


What We Hide

by BloodofSpies



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, I Tried, Kidnapping, My First Fanfic, major canon character death/not death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23806990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodofSpies/pseuds/BloodofSpies
Summary: Anya Trujillo has been a lot of things: a mother, a daughter, an undercover spy, and a wife just to name a few. But now she's at the BAU to start over, until she sees a familiar face...Starts in season 5, follows specific episodes, with a few major changes! Enjoy!
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Emily Prentiss, Ian Doyle/Emily Prentiss, Original Male Character/Original Female Character, Penelope Garcia/Kevin Lynch, Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.” Sir Walter Scott  
> “A man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides.” André Malraux
> 
> 5x4 - Hopeless

One look at his office, and I can see all of the ways he can’t hide who he is. The law books in the middle of the shelf hide the more philosophical books towards the edges. A picture of his son and wife tilts so that way they don’t get in the way of his work, but he can still look at them when he needs to be reminded of why he does what he does. The slumped shoulders give off an appearance of weight being placed on them, but the light still in his eyes shows that he’s ready for more, if it means justice. I cross my legs, keeping myself at a distance. Interpol may have hidden my past under a thick blanket of bureaucratic bullshit, but I still feel uncomfortable under the microscope.  
“Dr. Trujillo--”  
“Please. Call me Anya.”  
“Anya, your credentials are all in order. In fact, I’m surprised. CIA, then Interpol? You are certainly one of the best in your field. But you’ve been retired from Interpol for nearly five years. I just want to make sure that you understand what this job entails.”  
I smile, more to calm him. “I know what this job means, not just to myself, but to the world. Catching killers is what I do, what I want to do. I want to make this world safer, not just for myself, but for everyone else living in it. They shouldn’t have to see the horrors we see. I took a break to raise my son, but I know that the best way to help him is to make this world better. I know my limits, and I know when to tell you that I need a break. I just really want to get back into doing something that matters.”  
“Okay, then. I’ll show you where your desk is.”  
He stands, leaning his weight into his hands. He was injured, torso area, recently, but not too recent as to keep him out of the field.  
I follow him out into the bullpen, but stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Sitting at one of the desks, cool as a cucumber, was Emmy. She caught my eye and for a second, all time froze. Before I could say anything, a pretty blonde woman rushes in. Hotch immediately straightens his back, and Emmy stood, relaxed.  
“Let me guess, don’t get comfortable,” she says, standing up to greet the other. I shake myself out of my stupor and trail behind the group.  
They begin talking about a home invasion in southeast D.C., and I pipe up for a moment, interupting the blonde woman.  
“Isn’t southeast where all that vandalism’s been lately?” I pipe up. They all turn to look at me, except Emily, whose eyes are down. “Sorry.”  
“No, you’re right. Same area. Do you think they could be connected?”  
I shrug. “I don’t know. The weapon doesn’t fit the typical M.O. of a home invasion killing.”  
“It’s something to consider,” Hotch cuts in. “It’s common for vandalism to escalate into violence.”  
“Plus there’s a lot of anger out there. That neighborhood’s a lot of mostly black working class,” Muscles points out.  
“And now it’s being gentrified while the people who live there are having a tough time,” Emmy adds.  
“Were the victims wealthy?”  
“Yeah, it was two couples, both part of the influx of wealth in the area.”  
“Did the police report a robbery?” I ask, but this time, there’s no pause before the blonde answers.  
“Nothing was taken.”  
“What race were the victims?” Muscles asks.  
“One couple was white, the other black.”  
“Not racially motivated.”  
“JJ, find Rossi and Reid, tell them we’ll meet them in 5.”  
The blonde, JJ, nods, and leaves, with a smile towards me.  
“If this is related to vandalism, four dead is a hell of an escalation.”  
“So there’s the potential for a lot more bodies out there?”  
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Hotch says, before turning to leave.  
“What should I do?” I ask him.  
“Go with Prentiss and Morgan. They’ll catch you up.”  
I turn to the two, who are waiting, and smile.  
~~~  
As we walk to the SUVs, the two introduce themselves.  
“I’m Emily. Prentiss.” I nod, taking in this information. She doesn’t want them to know we know each other. In other words, don’t talk about 2003.  
“Anya. Trujillo.”  
“Nice to meet you.”  
“You too.”  
“And I’m Derek Morgan.”  
“It’s nice to meet you.”  
Two SUVs stand towards the back of the parking lot, and JJ is already waiting, along with two men that I suspect are Reid and Rossi. One of them is on crutches. The other one I’ve seen on the book jackets of several books I own.  
“JJ, Rossi, Reid. This is Anya Trujillo. She’s going to be joining us.”  
“Hi, I’m Jennifer. Most people call me JJ. Sorry we didn’t get to introduce ourselves earlier.”  
“It’s cool. I know how hectic cases can get.”  
“This is David--”  
“Rossi,” I interrupt. “Sorry, I don’t mean to get all fangirly, but your books were part of the reason I went into law enforcement.”  
“It’s no problem. Just don’t quote them at me,” he says with a pointed look towards the kid next to him. The one on crutches smiles awkwardly and waves.  
“Hi, I’m, uh, Spencer Reid. Uh, I was just wondering how long you lived in Europe.”  
“I lived in London for about ten years.”  
“Okay, let’s go,” Hotch announces, closing the file he had in his hands as he walks up to us. I climb in the SUV with Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid. During the car ride, we made small talk, mostly about them.  
“So what about you,” Morgan asks, looking at me from the rearview mirror. “What’d you do in London?”  
“Well, I went to university there, and mostly worked a desk job for Interpol.” I said. Not technically a lie. I did start out as a desk job for six weeks, to make sure paperwork was in order before I began life as a spy.  
“Were you born there?”  
“No, I was born in Portland, Oregon.” Emmy nods.  
“Family in the area, or are you on your own out here?”  
“For the most part, it’s just me and Elijah.”  
“Who’s Elijah?” Prentiss asks, but she knows. She knows.  
“My son.”  
Morgan and Prentiss share a look, and I pretend not to notice. “What about you guys? How long have you been with the bureau?”  
They give their respective answers, and I file them away. Eventually, we arrive at the scene, and I instantly shift into work mode. JJ introduces us to the detective, Andrews.  
“What can you tell us?” Rossi asks.  
“Looks like one of the victims was attacked when he got out of his car, meaning whoever did this probably used his keys to get inside and surprise the other victims.”  
“Who found the bodies?” Morgan asks.  
“The cleaning woman. She’s giving her statement now.”  
“Dave, go with Morgan, Prentiss, and Trujillo inside. We’ll handle out here.”  
I follow the other three up the stairs, but turn when Andrews pipes up.  
“I know you’re used to this, but it’s a hell of a sight in there.”  
I nod, and then open the door.  
Immediately the smell of blood hits me, and white sheets cover the bodies. The way the scene is set reminds me of how a mob in Italy used to treat American tourists. This is way more disorganized, though. As Rossi lifts the sheet, I notice that this guy had enough strength to crush the skull. The pieces of brain matter is when I have to look away.  
“You alright?” Morgan asks.  
“Yes. This is gruesome.”  
“Indeed,” Rossi agrees.  
A cop enters from the dining room area. “Whoever did this ain’t human.” He nearly bolts out of the room, keeping his eyes up and away from the bodies.  
I stand and catch Prentiss’ eye. She nods as if to say “Welcome to the team.”  
“Okay, let’s see, victim one gets dropped here,” Rossi says, pointing to where the first victim lays.  
“While number two comes around the corner to see what’s happening and,” Morgan reaches out to the spot on the door frame where dried blood sits, “the unsub attacks him here.”  
“The female victims were probably here,” Emily adds, pointing at the fly ridden table, “when the first attack occurred.”  
“Which means somebody would have to control them pretty quickly,” I mention, looking from the table to victim three, the white woman. “How many unsubs are we thinking?” I ask.  
“At least one to move the body inside,” Rossi starts. “Another one to take out man number two, and one more to subdue the others.”  
“Vandalism brings a pack mentality,” I bring up, studying the woman’s positions.  
“If it is the same unsubs, then yeah, we’re looking at a group of three, maybe four,” Morgan agrees.  
“These aren’t kids. They’re too efficient. There’s control and precision. Juveniles are sloppy,” I say, more to myself than anything.  
“She’s right,” Emily agrees. “There’s nothing tentative about these kills. No experimentation. These guys know what they’re doing.”  
“I don’t know,” Morgan says. I look up at him.  
“What are you thinking?” Rossi asks.  
“I can understand vandalism escalating into violence but that’s usually gradual. An assault, a single murder, maybe, but come on. This? This feels fully evolved.” I stand just as Hotch enters.  
“Let’s reconvene back at the office.”  
I try to not show how grateful I am to leave that room.  
~~~  
When we get back, we are immediately ushered into a room I hadn’t seen before. As everyone finds their seats, another familiar face shows up in a teal/turquoise outfit. She stops when she sees me.  
“Oh my gosh, you’re really here!”  
I squeal and pull her into a hug.  
“It’s so good to see you!”  
“You two know each other?” Morgan asks, turning towards us.  
“Of course, how could I forget the amazing Dr. Anya Trujillo. Oh, my gosh we have two doctors now. This is amazing!”  
I blush, and try to downplay it. “Childhood friends. Afterwards, we lost contact, but when I moved here, I found out that she worked here when we ran into each other at a restaurant, and we’ve been able to see each other more often. It’s just so good to see you again!” I hug her again.  
“When will I get to see the incomparable Elijah?”  
“Right after this case is done. My mother’s watching him after school. He missed Aunt Penny.”  
“Alright everyone, let’s get started,” Hotch says.  
“You sit by me,” Miss Penelope Garcia said, pulling me over to the seat on her left, while Morgan takes her right, and Reid stands off to the side.  
JJ comes in and hits a button on her remote. “September 3rd, 15 luxury cars had their windows smashed.” Photo footage of the damage is shown. She clicks a button, and the image changes into the damage of a store front. “September 14th, a new upscale clothing boutique was vandalized.” Another button press. “September 24th, two different restaurants, both catering to a wealthy clientele, had their front windows smashed and interiors torn apart. And finally,” another button press, “October 1st, a newly renovated townhome was ransacked before the family could move in.”  
“So they went from attacking public property to a private residence, but no victims,” Prentiss points out. JJ passes the remote to Hotch.  
“The question is, what makes them move from that to this?” Hotch presses the button, and I hear my girl gasp and turn away at the sight of the crime scene photos. I take her hand, but keep my eyes on the screen.  
“The vandalism targets were all symbols of the neighborhood’s changing makeup and economy. Maybe there’s something specific about these victims that set the unsubs off,” Morgan posits.  
“I’ve spoken to the victims’ family members. They’ve agreed to come in and help however they can.”  
“Garcia, check social networking sites. See if these unsubs have coordinated these attacks online.”  
“If they dare tweet, I shall flush them out like a bird dog, sir.”  
“We need to be asking how these unsubs manage to not stand out in this neighborhood.”  
Reid suddenly stands and moves to the front of the room.  
“Each of these crime scene locations are a representation of new wealth and status, but the area surrounding the crime scenes are still populated by long-time residents, who are slowly being pushed out.”  
“That’s a lot of disenfranchised people who are all part of the neighborhood makeup.”  
“So most likely these unsubs don’t stand out because they’re probably local themselves,” I add.  
“I don’t know, I’m with Rossi,” Emily says. “I mean, anger, I get, but this much violence? We’re looking at at least three men with an incredible amount of rage. Where do you hide that?”  
“Okay, let’s keep digging. We’ll find the answers somewhere.”  
That seems to be the signal, because Garcia starts to leave, as does everyone else, splitting up. I decide to follow Garcia, mostly because it’s easier, and also because I can spitball off of her.  
“The biggest thing,” I start, as we walk, “is the stressor. So do you think you can also look at anyone in the target area who’s dealing with financial trouble, bankruptcy, foreclosure, anything?”  
“If they’ve got a deficient, I shall find it. Any other factors I can use to narrow it down?”  
“Yeah, look at men between the ages of 25 and 45. These guys had some wicked strength. They’re gonna be young. Thanks. And hey,” I stop her. “It really is great to see you again.” She smiles and boops my nose before delving back into her lair. I go to the break room. It was already nearly 2 and I hadn’t eaten anything. I ended up making another cup of coffee to keep my stomach from grumbling, when Garcia suddenly appeared.  
“Here’s that list.”  
“Oh, thanks! I’ll give it to Hotch.”  
The number at the bottom of the list made me stutter, but I passed it along to Hotch.  
“You should probably eat.”  
“I’m fine. Thanks.”  
Hotch just raises an eyebrow, but turns to go talk to Morgan.  
~~~  
Eventually night falls. “Okay, everyone go home. Get some sleep, and then we’ll pick up tomorrow.”  
Everyone starts packing up, but Hotch stays. “Does he always stay late?” I ask Emily. She chuckles.  
“Yeah. That’s Hotch. You coming?”  
“No, I need to catch up. Paperwork and stuff.”  
“Ah, the newbie paperwork. I remember.”  
The paperwork was actually a breeze to get through, with the help of two newly brewed cups of coffee. After I was done, I took off my necklace and just looked at it. The engraving on the inside is in Russian: “Always a family.”  
I can remember everything about them so well. Alexei, Vera, Lev, Anastasia. I don’t get to see them anymore, but I get emails updating me on their lives. So far, that’s been enough. I began to set up my desk. Photo of me and Ilya. A family photo of the Belikovs, approximately ten days before The End, not framed. I was good at my job. Looking at that photo, you wouldn’t be able to tell what I did.  
“Is that your family?”  
I jump. Hotch is standing beside my desk.  
“Um. Kinda. I knew them. I haven’t seen them in a while. But this,” I hand Hotch the photo of Ilya. “That’s my son.”  
“He’s cute. Strong. Takes a lot after you.”  
“Thanks.”  
I put the framed photo on my desk and put the other photo in a drawer.  
“You going home?”  
“Yeah. You should too. It’s nearly 10.”  
“Yeah, sorry. I had to do some paperwork and then I kind of… zoned out, I guess. Here, I’ll walk out with you. To prove that I’m going home.”  
When we got to my car, I thank him, and then drive off. By the time I get home, the clock says 10:30, and I haven’t eaten anything since before work.  
My mother is waiting for me. “Anya. How was your day?”  
“It was good, mum. How was Ilya?” I look through the pantry for anything I can eat. There’s some chef boyardee’s that I, after careful consideration, pop into the microwave.  
“He was Elijah,” she says, careful to use the name legally used on his American documents. “He’s such a quiet boy.”  
“He’s a good kid.”  
“That child is a gift. Even with his father--”  
“Can we not talk about him tonight?”  
“Fine. I’m glad to see you’re settling into your job.”  
“Thank you. You should probably head home. Peter’s going to want to see you tomorrow,” I tease.  
She laughs before getting serious again. “Now you better get some sleep. I don’t want to see you run yourself into the ground, alright? You have that little boy to think of.”  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
After eating and getting ready for bed, I tiptoe over to Ilya’s door, pushing it open a little bit, before sliding in and kissing him on the top of his head. He stirs, hand going to rub his eyes.  
“Mama?”  
“Hey, baby.”  
“Did you just get home?”  
“Yeah. Sorry I missed storytime. How far did you get?”  
“Harry and Ron turned into Crabbe and Goyle.”  
“Oh, that’s a good part. What’d you do at school?”  
He screws up his face thinking for a moment before answering. “We started addition today.”  
“Addition?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Fun! Did you tell the teacher you already know how to do that?”  
“Yeah. He didn’t believe me, so I had to do it with the rest of them.”  
“I’m sorry. Some people are just mean. But did you at least get to play with your friends?”  
“Yeah! Tommy and Chris and I played Power Rangers during recess.”  
“Which ranger were you?”  
“The Red one. He’s the coolest. But Tommy also wanted to be red, so I was dark red and he was light red. But he had to listen to me.”  
“I’m very glad that you shared. It’s late. You should probably go to sleep.”  
“Will you leave again?”  
“I’m sorry. I might have to.” He looks upset, so I find a solution. “Do you want to sleep in Mama’s bed tonight?”  
“Yeah!”  
“Okay, let’s go.”  
~~~  
Just as I get to my desk the next morning, JJ comes in with Hotch. “There’s been another murder, this one a few blocks away.”  
“How many?” Morgan asks.  
“Just two. It was late in the parking lot of the place where the girlfriend worked. Manager found the bodies this morning. We’re pretty sure it’s the same guys.”  
“Trujillo, Morgan, Reid, with me and JJ. We’re going to the crime scene.” The crowd when we arrive is packed with CSUs and police. Andrews greets us again. We run through the basics: witnesses, who found the bodies, security cameras. JJ leaves to talk to the manager.  
“Any idea who the victims are?” I ask, leaning down to pick up the sheet. The sight immediately is more gruesome than the last.  
“Judging by the driver’s license, one of them’s a waitress here. It says Jessica Miller, and the other one’s probably Doug Taylor.”  
“You can’t tell for sure?” Morgan asks.  
“Honestly, you can’t make an I.D.,” the guy admits as I move the sheet so Morgan can see. He automatically looks away. Hotch goes around to the other body and looks at the guy’s not-really-a-face. Reid looks over my shoulder.  
“Well, they’re definitely getting bolder. These kills were in public.”  
“If this is supposed to be about symbolism, it’s not anymore. This is a blue-collar restaurant, the victim is a waitress,” Morgan points out.  
“There’s no ideology behind it,” Hotch agrees. “It’s about violence and power.”  
“They actually sat here and drank beers after the murders,” Andrews said, disgusted.  
“They’re telling us that they don’t care,” I tell him, standing.  
“They’re like those outlaws that ride into town and let you know the only way to stop them is by killing them,” Reid adds.  
Andrews' voice rises in anger. “Well, if that’s what they want, I know plenty of cops who’d be happy to oblige.” I step forward, a hand out.  
“Detective, we need to keep our heads,” I say calmly.  
“Meaning what?”  
“Meaning that this level of nihilism, this randomness, it can have a mirror impact.”  
“Are you warning me not to go after some kind of revenge?”  
I shake my head. “All I’m saying is this level of brutality is almost like a challenge from the unsubs, trying to drag everyone down to their level. It’s a natural reaction.”  
“I’m just doing my job,” he says, spitting in my face, before stalking away. I jerk back, my hand automatically going to wipe it off.  
“You okay?” Morgan asks.  
“I’m fine.”  
“Let’s head back,” Hotch orders. “We’ve got our profile.”  
~~~  
I stay back with Hotch, and Rossi arrives at the police station shortly after.  
“I’m not going to make you give a profile for this case, but I want you to be aware of how we do it here.” I nod, and find a seat towards the edge of the crowd. The profile is very in depth, and I wonder how they know when to step in and add more information. It seems flawless.  
As the crowd disperses, I spot Detective Andrews.  
“Detective, can we talk?”  
He nods, and follows me over to the stage, where Hotch and Rossi are talking.  
“I just wanted to say that at the crime scene, it was not my intention to accuse you of being unprofessional.”  
“Yeah?”  
“It’s just that I know what it’s like to work a case that makes you question humanity, and it’s not the worst thing to remind yourself to rise above it a little, or we lose ourselves.”  
Andrews turns to Hotch and Rossi. “I appreciate you giving the men the profile.”  
I try to stop him, but Andrews walks away before I can say anything else. Hotch and Rossi are looking at me when I turn back towards them. I sigh.  
~~~  
I am home for maybe 20 minutes when the phone call comes in. Ilya is doing homework on the small kid table while a movie plays on the TV.  
“Hey Hotch, what’s up?”  
“When you come in for work, go straight to the police station.”  
“What’s happened?”  
“There was a riot. We’re hoping the unsubs be in the crowd that got arrested.”  
“Okay. Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”  
~~~  
The police station is mere minutes from Ilya’s school, so when I drop him off, I just turn left instead of right, and pull in just as Prentiss and Morgan do. When we walk in, Hotch immediately goes into information.  
“They’re still notifying families and processing most of the rioters.”  
“Did Garcia come up with anything?” Rossi asks Prentiss.  
“Yeah, she was able to isolate the first 2 cell phones in the chain.”  
“Detective, we don’t think our unsubs are in there, but we’d still like to interrogate the possible ringleaders.” By the end of his sentence, Andrews is shaking his head.  
“I don’t think so.”  
“We need to eliminate them absolutely as suspects.”  
“We can handle it on our own,” he says, with a glance toward me. It takes everything in my power to not roll my eyes.  
“We’re not saying you can’t,” Rossi says.  
Andrews stalks away again, and Hotch follows him. We follow Hotch.  
“Is there a problem?”  
“You had my men out there canvassing for adults when I could have been doing gang sweeps, going through juvenile records.”  
“That would have been a waste of your time,” Rossi advises.  
“In case you hadn’t noticed, those are kids out there.”  
“We don’t believe that last night’s riot is connected to the murders,” Prentiss reminds him.  
“How could it not be?”  
“Because the unsubs we’re looking for are older. They operate entirely out of southeast D.C. They exercise extreme control over their victims and violence is up close and personal. None of what happened here last night fits the profile,” Morgan says.  
“Enough with the profile. I got probably a million dollars worth of damage. I got two cops injured.”  
“Which was probably made worse by police overreaction,” Hotch says.  
“Meaning what?”  
“I warned you,” I speak up. “Cases like this, people get too emotional.”  
“You’re here as a guest of my department.”  
“And we’re only trying to help,” Rossi says.  
“If you’re so sure none of those kids are the killers, why bother interrogating them at all?”  
“Because we need to be certain. If we’re right, if this is just some sort of teenage dare, I guarantee you that the unsubs are going to respond very quickly.”  
“I appreciate your insight, but we’d like to take things from here on our own. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”  
We begin to file out, except for Prentiss, who hands the paper to Andrews, and says “You’re gonna want to start with these two names,” before walking out with the rest of us.  
As we were leaving the station, I overhear some woman near yelling for the officer in charge. Morgan recognizes her, and gets held back while we go outside.  
A few seconds later, he’s escorting the woman outside, and he waves us on. I drive my car back to Quantico, and meet Hotch, Prentiss and Rossi in the elevator. Garcia catches us just as we enter the bullpen.  
“I’ve logged onto the police dispatch for the area you’ve isolated, if anything’s reported, we’ll know when they know.”  
“Wait, are we staying on the case?” I ask. Hotch turns to face us.  
“We all know that these unsubs are gonna react to last night’s riot.”  
“But Anya’s right, they asked us to step aside.”  
“Andrews is a good cop, he’s just too emotional right now. If we don’t stay on, with or without his permission, he and all the rest of us will regret it.”  
We disperse, and Garcia stops me. “Where’s Morgan?”  
“Oh, he was dealing with some woman at the police station. I’m pretty sure she was the sister of the second victim.”  
“Huh.”  
“Why?”  
“No reason.” Garcia quickly walks away.  
~~~  
We gather in the round room. JJ starts.  
“I talked to the beat cops. They’re getting word out to businesses to keep an eye out for anyone who seems agitated by the news of last night’s riot.”  
“By now, Andrews has to know that none of those kids are the unsubs,” Rossi points out.  
“Then he’s bound to beef up police presence in the southeast. We should be there too. The faster we can react, the more we can help.” Hotch mentions.  
“Do you think the unsubs know about the riot?” Garcia asks.  
“Front page news? I don’t know how they can’t,” I respond.  
“And if the profile’s right?”  
“Their reaction’s gonna be quick and it’s gonna be brutal,” Reid answers.  
“Basically, it’s like knowing that lightning is going to strike but not be able to pinpoint where.”  
Suddenly Garcia’s laptop makes a noise. “Uhh, bar, two dead, sent you the address.”  
“Okay, let’s go.”  
~~~  
Andrews meets us at the door. “What are you doing here?”  
“Detective, we can argue about this later. Right now, you have a crime scene, and we’re here to help.”  
After a quick scowl at me, he lets us through, walking us through the scene.  
Morgan lifts the sheet to show us more bashed up head. “I’m getting real sick of us being right and it just not mattering.”  
“This is weird,” I say, pointing at the hands of the bartender.  
“What?”  
“These unsubs like to use their hands. They're extremely physical. Why aren't these nails pounded in?"  
“Probably used a nail gun,” Rossi guesses.  
“With all the gentrification and turnover in housing in the neighborhood, what’s a common sight these days?” Hotch asks.  
“Builders, contractors, and construction workers.”  
“We wouldn’t give it a second thought.”  
“Wait a minute,” Morgan interrupts. “Killing 4 people in that first home invasion, that never made sense to me. Unsubs build to something like that. What if this wasn’t their first murder? The first two rounds of vandalism, they were typical. Car windows smashed, restaurants with the plate glass broken. But that last case, right before the home invasion, that was a random construction site. A single-family townhouse. Prentiss, you flagged it yourself.”  
Prentiss nods, and pulls out her phone, walking out to talk to Garcia.  
“Morgan, Trujillo, go with Prentiss, see what you dig up.”  
~~~  
The townhome owners were not happy to relive the vandalism, but thankfully, the wife remembered something that helped us out.  
“The contractor I mentioned, he…” She trails off. The husband picks up.  
“After the vandalism, we called him to oversee the repairs, and he never called us back.”  
“The police report said every room in the house was destroyed except one.”  
“Yeah, they smashed every room except the nursery. That one they didn’t touch.”  
I catch Prentiss’ eye. “We need to see it.”  
They lead us to the nursery, and we begin inspecting places that might hold a body. I start thinking about an old story I read, The Cask of Amontillado, where the guy bricked up his friend into the wall.  
I whisper to Morgan about my thoughts. “Do you think he’s in the wall?”  
Morgan turns, looking at a support wall that served as an entrance to the room. He turns to Prentiss. “This wall is structural.” And then he turns to the couple. “I wouldn’t ask you unless I felt it was incredibly important. I need to open up this wall.”  
The wife says “no”, at the same time the husband says, “we can’t live here and not know”. Morgan steps forward.  
“Ma’am, I promise you, even if I have to do every bit of the work myself, this wall will be repaired and it’ll go right back to being exactly what you want. Please?”  
She agrees, and Prentiss makes the call.  
~~~  
After SCSI shows up, I leave with Hotch and Rossi to head back to the office, where we let everyone know what’s going on. Morgan calls Hotch on the way to the armory, and we suit up and get ready to go.  
On our way down, I call my mom.  
“Hey, mom, could you pick up Ilya tonight? I’m going to have to work late.”  
“Yeah, no problem. Is everything okay?”  
“Yeah, everything’s fine. We’re apprehending a suspect tonight. Oh, don’t forget to keep reading Harry Potter. He’ll totally be shocked by the ending.”  
“Okay. Be safe. Love you.”  
“Love you too.”  
When I turn, JJ is standing in the doorway. “That’s a good book.”  
“I know.”  
“How old is your son?”  
“He’s almost 6. Yours?”  
“He’s only a year. How’d you know?”  
“I didn’t. I just figured. You’ve kind of got that vibe.”  
“His name’s Ilya?”  
“Yeah. Elijah, technically. Ilya’s the Russian.”  
“Are you Russian?”  
“No, but his father is.”  
“What happened to him?”  
I keep it cool and vague. “He’s not in the picture anymore.”  
“I get it. Well, if you ever need more babysitters, I know a bunch of great ones that are in the next room. Just give us a call. Will, Henry’s dad, is a local cop, so he can be around when I’m not.”  
“That’s nice, having someone like that.”  
“He’s a great guy.”  
Reid crutches in. “They’re getting ready to go.”  
“Thanks.” With a nod towards Reid, I join up with the rest of them. We get in nondescript cars and take off for the address Garcia had given us.  
“We go in first,” Andrews announces.  
“It’s your case,” Hotch replies.  
When we breach the door, we immediately find one in the living room. The other two are unaccounted for. The second we find out where they are, Prentiss and I go for one of the cars. Hotch tosses the keys over, and Prentiss drives us over there. The construction site is strange to look at, like a shell of a house. While Andrews and Hotch convene, Prentiss and I hold our ground.  
“Prentiss, look,” I say, watching Hotch walk away from the group. “Is he just leaving?”  
Prentiss shakes her head. “Looks like it.”  
“Just when I thought he was back on the top of his game,” Morgan says. I raise an eyebrow at Prentiss, but she just gives me a look that says “I’ll explain later.”  
“Makes sense,” Rossi says, sliding up next to us. “You’ve got at least two dozen cops all looking for revenge. You have two psychopaths inside, ready to play out their fantasy end. You wanna take your shot, take it.” He holsters his gun, and I follow suit.  
“Our job is done.” With Prentiss joining us, we walk away. Trying to be cool like the rest of them, I don’t flinch when the gunfire starts. We just walk.  
~~~  
“Prentiss and I were thinking about getting a little drink on,” Morgan mentions as we enter the bullpen. “Wanna join us? Might get Hotch to come too.”  
“Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’ve got a little boy at home who I need to cuddle.”  
“Suit yourself.”  
I pack up my things to leave, but Prentiss catches me before I reach the elevator.  
“Hey. We need to talk.”  
“Yeah.”  
“I’m sorry for just springing on you. It was just safer to keep everything under wraps.”  
“I know. Honestly, that was my plan too. But at least I have someone I can talk to.”  
“Yeah. It’s hard sometimes, seeing something and being reminded.”  
“I get it. It’s good to see you again, as Emily. You look happier.”  
“Thanks. You too. I guess it’s best if some things are left dead.”  
“Agreed.” The elevator arrives and I step into it. “See you tomorrow, Emily.”  
“See you tomorrow, Anya.” The elevator closes, and starts its dark descent down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x5 - Cradle to Grave

While waiting in the round room for Hotch & Morgan, I show Garcia pictures of Ilya. “Yeah, but I don’t know, I mean, he already knows you, and I don’t know if everyone else would be cool with it?”  
“Cool with what?” Reid asks. I lean back in my chair.  
“My kid’s birthday is coming up. Usually, it’s just him and me, but he said he wants to meet my coworkers instead. He said that I made you guys too magical to be real, so he wants to see for himself.”  
“Oh, that’s adorable,” Prentiss coos.  
“You know, one of your ‘coworkers’, just so happens to be a millionaire with a big house for a party,” Morgan says, pointing at Rossi.  
“I wouldn’t want to infringe…”  
“Who’s infringing? Besides, what am I supposed to do with my millions if I can’t spoil the BAU kids? JJ can bring Will and Henry along, and your kiddo can meet us all. Bring his friends, too, so that way he doesn’t get bored at the party.”  
“What’s this about a party?” Hotch says, entering on Rossi’s last words.  
“Rossi’s helping us throw a birthday party for Anya’s son.”  
“And everyone’s invited.”  
“That sounds great. Okay, let’s get started.”  
JJ stands, remote in her hand. “Kristie Taylor, runaway drug addict, reported missing from Farmington, New Mexico three years ago. Yesterday she turned up off a freeway outside of Rio Rancho.”  
We go through her torture and kidnapping, and a surprising twist comes up.  
“She was pregnant,” I read.  
“She’d given birth. Very soon after, the unsub killed her,” JJ finishes.  
“How soon after?” Morgan asks.  
“Minutes.”  
“This unsub isn’t your typical sexual sadist,” Hotch says. “Captivity and assault we’ve seen before. What we haven’t seen is this signature, the role he forces these women to fulfill before he kills them. Motherhood. Wheels up in 30.”  
“So how do we get to New Mexico from here,” I ask Reid.  
“Oh, we take the jet,” he says, before leaving the room on his crutches.  
I stop, before chasing after him. “We have a jet?!”  
~~~  
We boarded the jet, and I am still incredulous at that statement. Since Reid and I are the first ones there, having gotten coffee together beforehand, he gives me the basic layout.  
“Usually JJ, Prentiss and Morgan will take these middle ones. Hotch likes the back of the  
plane chairs, and Rossi either joins Hotch or the others. Sometimes I sit with them, but I can’t fit because of my knee, so this couch is kind of mine. But feel free to sit wherever.”  
“Would you mind if I sat by you?”  
“I would be happy to sit by you.”  
“Cool. Then it’s me and you, Dr. Reid.”  
Eventually everyone boards, and the plane takes off.  
“Let’s talk about the case,” Hotch says, somewhere over Iowa or Arkansas.  
We discuss similar famous cases, victimology, and even what he's doing with the babies but nothing is entirely certain.  
“JJ, check with the parents. See if there are any similarities in the runaways’ patterns, where the unsub’s funding them. Reid, Prentiss and Trujillo, go to the latest dump site. We need to look at victimology. How he treats these women in the final moments of their lives might tell us what he’s doing to the children. Dave, Morgan and I will go to the M.E., see what they got from the bodies themselves.”  
We disperse back to our original locations, ready for the plane to land.  
~~~  
Prentiss and I duck under the yellow tape.  
“There’s no tire tracks,” Prentiss says. “The body wasn’t dumped that far from the road.”  
“Yeah, this guy doesn’t care about them, not enough to even hide them very well,” I say, gesturing at the sparse rocks and dirt that could have hidden her.  
“That’s why this doesn’t make any sense,” Reid says, peering at the map. “Dump sites reveal something about the unsub, you know? At the very least a geographic familiarity, a place he knows he won’t get caught.”  
I walk back over to Reid. “Okay, so he knows this road.”  
“Yeah, except he abducted Kristie in Farmington, and then dumps her here in Rio Rancho. That’s a 175-mile drive.”  
“Why drive that far just to dump a body by the side of the road?” Prentiss asks.  
“A forensic countermeasure? Covering his tracks by sheer distance?” I offer.  
“So the geographical profile won’t do us much good.”  
“No, it will, just not with the victims,” Reid argues. “We profiled that it’s the babies that he’s interested in. That’s where he’ll reveal himself.”  
“The adoption company he sells through and whatever network of resources he uses.”  
“He makes shortcuts there for convenience. No one’s gonna drive 100 miles for diapers or for a public notary for legal paperwork. If the babies are in the system, they’ll lead us to him,” I say.  
~~~  
Once we made it to the police station, Reid called Garcia to ask about adoption information. She gives us way too much information on skeezy foster parents, before getting to the really interesting bit: the demographics of baby adoption.  
“White babies are in higher demand than minorities. Boys are more popular than girls, at least, this year anyway, and then there’s the Swedish Supermodel rule.”  
“The what?” Prentiss asks.  
“If I were to deliver a blonde-haired, blue-eyed bundle of joy, I would be set for life. I would.”  
“Garcia, did the baby’s DNA turn up in New Mexico’s adoption records?” Hotch asks.  
“No. There’s no hits on her profile. And it is a her, by the way.”  
“This unsub could still be selling babies,” Rossi mentions. “Just not through the system.”  
“That’s gonna make him a lot harder to catch,” Reid says.”  
“All right, it’s late,” Hotch says. “Let’s get some rest. We’ll hit this fresh in the morning.”  
We make our way to the hotel using the complementary SUVs the field office has on standby.  
“Sorry, guys. Budget cuts.” Hotch holds up four keys.  
“Dibs on JJ!” Emily calls.  
“I don’t really care where I sleep,” I mention. “But I do need to make a phone call.”  
I go outside and pull up my mom in the contacts, checking the time. New Mexico’s only two hours behind, so there’s still time before Ilya’s bedtime. I hope he’s still up while the phone rings.  
“Hello?”  
“Hey, mom. How’s it going?”  
“It’s pretty good. Peter decided that the three of us would have game night, and of course, Elijah smoked us right out of the water playing monopoly. The kid is ruthless.”  
“That’s great. Did you send out those birthday invitations?  
“Yes. So far, the entire class is coming, along with a parent or two.”  
“Great, I’ll let Rossi know.”  
“Oh, don’t worry about that. Dave and I have been keeping in contact.”  
“Dave? What’s going on?”  
“Oh, honey. Dave’s an old college friend. Peter’s not jealous.”  
“Okay then. Is Ilya still up?”  
“Yes, I just sent him to brush his teeth. Elijah, it’s your mom! Hold on.”  
A few seconds of muffled rustling and then a quiet voice came through the phone.  
“Mama?”  
“Hey, baby. How are you?”  
“I’m good. How are you?”  
“I’m good. I miss you. Did you have fun with Memaw and Peter?”  
“Yeah.”  
“What’d you do?”  
“Played Monopoly and cards. Peter won cards, but I won Monopoly.”  
“That’s really cool. Did you learn anything fun at school?”  
“Yeah, we talked about the sound t-h makes. Th. But sometimes it doesn’t, like with the name Thomas. Mr. Williams had to tell Tommy that his name isn’t pronounced Th-omas, but like the h is silent.”  
“Cool! Ilya, how would you feel, if for your birthday, your class could meet my friends?”  
“Really?”  
“Really.  
“And Aunt Penny and Mr. David and Miss Jennifer will be there?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Can Dr. Spencer teach me magic like you said?”  
“I can ask.”  
“Cool!”  
“It’s almost bedtime, kiddo.”  
“Aww…”  
“I know. But hey, I’ll be back before you know it, okay? And we can go out for ice cream.”  
“Promise?”  
“Promise-promise.”  
“Okay. Will you sing the Baby Be song?”  
“I will, but you have to be in bed.”  
“Memaw! It’s bedtime, so mama can sing the Baby Be song.” After a few seconds of rustling and giggles, his voice comes back through the phone. “Okay, I'm ready.”  
“Okay. Oh, where, oh, where can my baby be? The lord took her away from me. She’s gone to heaven so I’ve got to be good, so I can see my baby when I leave this world…”  
I sing the entire song, and when it ends, my mom whispers, “You get some sleep. I love you.”  
“Alright mom. Love you too.”  
I hang up and sigh, before turning around and heading back inside. Everyone else is gone, and Reid is waiting in the lobby.  
“Hey. Morgan and Rossi snore, and Hotch asked me if he can have the single room, so I guess it’s you and me.”  
“Great! I’m ready when you are. You can have the bathroom.”  
“Cool.”  
I plug my phone into my charger and change into sweats and an old college sweatshirt, but don’t get into bed yet, instead sitting on top of the covers with my laptop in front of me. I log into an email only a few people know about. The second it’s in, I see the emails with jpegs attached.  
I click on the first one. Alexei, or as he’s known here, Alexander, hanging out with some of his friends, playing soccer. He’s 16 now. He looks just like his father did at that age, but he looks happier. The next one is a school photo of Vera, or Nicole. She dyed her hair again, the natural black streaked with unnatural red. She just started high school, according to the email, and she really enjoys her art class. Leo and Stacy, who used to be Lev and Anastasia, mostly feature their birthday parties. They just turned 11 and 7 respectively. I save the photos to a password protected file, and just deleted the emails when Reid walks out of the bathroom. I click on the first thing that pops up, which happened to be an article about adopted kids and the adoption system in the states.  
“Don’t tell me you’re still working?” Reid asks. I show him my screen. “Anya, no.”  
“Anya, yes. Just because we were told to go to sleep doesn’t mean that there isn’t some girl out there, being tortured by this guy. I can’t just sleep knowing that.”  
“Did you know that there are up to 30 to 40 serial killers active in the US daily?”  
“No. Seriously?”  
“Well, that's the best estimate. But what I’m trying to say is that we are doing the best we can. But we can’t do the best we can if we’re just running ourselves into the ground. Some of this is a waiting game. Waiting until the killer slips up, or we uncover something. Trust me. If I could save all the world’s problems by never sleeping, I’d be hallucinating.” I giggle in spite of myself. “So come on. Go to sleep.”  
I grapple with it for a second, before giving in. “Fine.” I push my computer towards the bottom of the bed and climb under the covers, turning off the lights as I do so. I notice that the bathroom light is still on, the door nearly closed. “Oh, the bathroom light’s still on.”  
“Leave it.”  
“Okay.”  
“I’m sorry. You probably need complete pitch blackness to fall asleep.”  
“No, trust me, I don’t. If my kid slips into bed, sometimes the entire room has to be lit up. It’s hell on my electric bill, but I don’t lose sleep over it.”  
“Ha. I bet you’re a good mom.”  
“I try.”  
I fall asleep shortly after that, and fall into my worst nightmare.  
I wake up to sunlight in my dream. Everything is calm. There are no mob meetings to be had, no places to be. Ilya lies on my right side, curled in against my slightly protruding stomach. Five months pregnant. My husband slides his hand across my belly, holding me tighter before letting go and moving.  
“Stay here,” I say, curling against his arm. He stops moving, and we stay in bed for a while before he speaks.  
“It’s a beautiful day out, Lizzy,” he says. “Why don’t we take the kids to the park?” And so we do. My ring is on my hand, the weight natural, and Nikolai wears a matching one. The kids run around, playing tag. As the day goes on, the sun grows brighter and brighter, until it starts to burn my eyes. My stomach starts to tear into two and I collapse on the ground as Nikolai laughs and greets his new son, fully grown, and then our child, with fire in his eyes, and wearing the second ring Nikolai wears, picks up my gun and shoots them all, Alexei, Vera, Lev, Anastasia, and Ilya, one by one, and then turns the gun on me. I wake when he shoots me.  
“Anya, Anya!” Someone is holding down my shoulders, trying to shake me awake, and when I open my eyes, it’s Reid, who somehow managed to get to my bed using his crutches. I sit up and take deep breaths. In between, I apologize profusely.  
“I’m so sorry. You’d probably rather. Have snoring right now. Huh?”  
“Are you okay?”  
“I’m fine. Go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”  
“No, no, it’s fine. It’s almost time to get up anyway.”  
“I’m so sorry, Spencer. I really, really didn’t think I would have a nightmare.”  
“It’s okay. It’s natural. Everyone has nightmares.”  
“Okay. I’m going to get up now and take a shower. Again, sorry.”  
I grab my bag and hurry into the bathroom, incredibly embarrassed. I finally manage to turn on the shower, and try to scrub away the bad dream with soap and scalding hot water.  
~~~  
We head back to the station after grabbing some breakfast. As soon as I see Reid it’s awkward. Hopefully we’re on the plane by 5. After a bunch of brainstorming and Garcia look-ups, JJ announces that she found Monica Windmar’s daughter: Lisa, and another piece of important news: she was abandoned and adopted in Arizona. We build up the profile when Hotch announces this bit of news:  
“All right, we need to split up. We’ll give the profile to the Arizona and the New Mexico State Police. Rossi, Reid, Prentiss, and Trujillo, head to Phoenix. Morgan, you’re with me. We’ll finalize the profile.”  
I nod, and the four of us leave to grab our bags.  
~~~  
The Arizona State Police are really cool with letting us waltz in no questions asked. They help us get set up, and then gather everyone. On the car ride there, we talked about who would say what, and Prentiss explained to me how it tends to go.  
After running through my part in my head, I stand up there with the rest of them, taking in all of the cops staring up at us. It's like being at Ilya's Bring Your Parent to Class day, but instead of a bunch of bored 6 year olds, it's a bunch of 30-something cops who are probably a little jealous of us, or at the very least, dislike our being here.  
Rossi starts the profile, with Prentiss and Reid joining in. I manage to say my part, even fielding a question from someone, without sounding like a complete idiot and newbie. When Rossi gives out the "thank you" signaling the cops permission to disperse, I quickly make my way to the corner we have set up. My stomach grumbles as we walk and Emily glances at me before looking at the boys. “Hey, I’m starving, and I saw a diner up the way. Text us your orders.” She grabbed my arm and led me out of the station.  
“Let’s get our grub on.”  
~~~  
When we got back, Rossi and Reid caught us up to speed on what they found while we were out.  
“Are Hotch and Morgan on their way?” Prentiss asked.  
“Yep. On route as we speak.”  
“Great. We should probably figure out how she’s getting the prenatal drugs. Is there a fertility clinic that we can talk to?”  
“Yeah, I’ve got a meeting with one of the employees in about 10 minutes. I’ll let you know what happens,” Rossi said, before grabbing his bag of food and leaving. We wait for him to return, and eventually he does with interesting news. Shortly after Rossi returns, and Hotch, Morgan and JJ arrive, Garcia calls.  
“Okay, so the gold star of the day goes to Agent David Rossi for his short list of one disease these prenatal drugs also treat. Breast cancer. Progesterone, tamoxifen slow the spread, metoclopramide and domperidone--”  
“Are for anti-nausea,” I cut in. “If I remember correctly.”  
We discuss a woman's ability to get pregnant with breast cancer, and using that information, Garcia manages to find our unsubs.  
“Just one. Robert and Linda Reimann. Oh geez.” I look up.  
“What?”  
“She lost the baby in month eight. She had to go through labor anyway.”  
“Well that kind of physical and emotional trauma, there’s our stressor.”  
“Garcia, was the baby a boy?” I ask.  
“Yeah, they even named him. Michael.”  
“There has to be a name on the death certificate,” JJ explains. “Doctors encourage bonding between mothers and stillborns. I volunteer with a new mom counseling group. They say it helps them cope with feelings of loss.”  
“Well, this unsub can’t cope, so she’s recreating them,” Hotch says. “Garcia, we need an address.”   
“Already sent.”  
~~~  
“JJ, you and Anya are going in first, Prentiss, right behind them,” Morgan orders as we get out of the cars.  
“What? Why?”  
“Kids are more likely to trust a woman’s presence. If we can get the kids out before the unsubs know, it’ll be less risky.”  
We jog over to the front entrance, and wait for one of the SWAT members to pick the lock. As soon as the door opens, we’re in. The three of us carefully make our way to the living room, checking rooms as we go. I spot a little blonde head on the couch. I automatically lower my gun, holstering it and stepping quietly towards the boy.  
“Hi,” I say in a soft voice, and the boy sits up, looking at me warily. “It’s okay. We’re the police, the good guys. I’m Anya, and these are my friends Emily and JJ. Can you come outside with me?” I ask, holding out my hand. The kid stands up and takes my hand, and as I lead him towards the front door, I hear Emily whisper, “Hotch, we’ve got one boy accounted for. He’s on his way out to you, but there could still be more in the basement.”  
A toilet flushes, so I hurry the kid out the door, past the cops, and set him by a vehicle.  
“You’re doing so good. Can you tell me your name?”  
He rubs his eyes for a second, before answering. “Michael.”  
“Okay, Michael. You’re doing such a good job. How old are you?”  
“Five.”  
“Wow, you’re the same age as my son. His name is Elijah.”  
He nods, and I smile. I catch movement by the door, and look up to see the husband in handcuffs. JJ nods, and I help get Michael buckled up. JJ and I get in the car, and we drive back to the station after getting the okay from Hotch. On the way, JJ calls Monica Winmar’s parents, asks them to meet us at the station.  
While we wait, I sit and talk with Michael a little more. A social worker comes and talks to him too, and we wait for his grandparents. Eventually the door opens, and JJ and the grandparents step in. After the introductions, I step out, and JJ follows. I watch through the window.  
“He’ll be okay, right? I mean, the Winmar’s seem like great people.”  
“I’d like to think so,” JJ agrees.  
~~~  
The plane ride back is a quick one, and I end up sitting with Reid again.  
“Hey,” I say, breaking the ice.  
“Hi.”  
“I’m sorry about this morning.”  
“There’s no need to apologize.”  
“I was just hoping that it’d be a while before all of my flaws come out.”  
“It’s fine. The first few months are always rough.”  
“I know. So, it’s cool?”  
“It’s cool.”  
“What are you reading?” I ask, and he picks up his book.  
“War and Peace. In the original Russian.”  
“Oh, I love that book. Though personally, Anna Karenina is better.”  
We start arguing about the stories, and by the time we land, we’ve moved on to Austen and Bronte sisters. Hotch and JJ, who’d been sitting nearby, finally cut in as we walk to our cars.  
“Spence, give it a rest. Don’t you know our girl has a PHD in Classic Literature?”  
“Seriously?” Reid asks, turning to me.  
“Yep. Harvard grad. One doctorate in Classics, BAs in Linguistics and Psych. I heard from Morgan that you have three doctorates?”  
“And counting,” Hotch adds. “He’s going for a psychology PHD next.”  
“I didn’t know you could even do that.”  
“Most of my classes are online,” Reid admits.  
“Still. I might want to boost my linguistics BA.”  
“I know a really great professor who could help you with that.”  
I can’t help but notice that there are only six cars.  
“Do you need a ride?” I ask him.  
“No, it’s fine. I usually take the train.”  
“That’s a long train ride.”  
He shrugs.  
“Come on, just let me give you a ride. You live in the city, don’t you?”  
“Yeah.”  
“So do I. Come on, Dr. Genius. It’s getting cold out.”  
He eventually agrees, and I drive him home.  
“Remember, Rossi’s got it all set up for Ilya’s birthday party tomorrow. You’re coming, right?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Great. Should I pick you up?”  
“You really don’t have to.”  
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just being a mom.”  
“No, it’s fine. Maybe we should start carpooling. After all, I’d love to pick your brain about your opinions on Chaucer.”  
“Tomorrow then. Text me.”  
“I’ll see you then.”  
I waited until he got inside before driving off. By the time I got home, it was nearly midnight. Ilya was asleep on the couch, hair pointed in 26 different directions.  
“He tried to wait up for you,” my mom whispered from her chair.  
“Ilya,” I said, running my fingers through his hair. “Ilya, I’m home. Come on, honey.”  
He woke up enough to let me carry him to bed, but after careful consideration, and thinking about the case, I ended up moving him to mine, and shutting off all of the lights.  
“Night, mama.”  
“Night, baby.”  
~~~  
The next day, the party is in full swing. So far, Ilya is very pleased with my coworkers, especially with Reid, who, on top of performing elaborate magic tricks, can tell him nearly every fact about dinosaurs. Emily and I stood in the kitchen, cutting pieces of cake.  
“How long has it been since you saw them? Any of them?” I ask, my voice low.  
“Too long.”  
“Sometimes I miss it. Them. The team.”  
“I know. But then I remember everything else. Does Elijah know who his father is?”  
“In some ways, yes. I told him that he was a very bad man who did a lot of very bad things. But that his father still loves him.”  
“Do you think he’ll want more information?”  
“When he’s older, I’ll tell him everything. I try to be as transparent as I can with him. He doesn’t need everyone constantly lying to him. That wouldn’t be fair to him. It’s not his fault.”  
“I get it. It’s the same with…” she trails off.  
“How long has it been since the last time you checked on him?”  
“A month. I think I’m just being paranoid. Sean would tell us, both of us if either of them got out.”  
“You should go see him. That’s why we did what we did. To keep them away from that life.”  
“I know. You’re right.”  
“He’d be about the same age as Anastasia, right?”  
“Yeah. How are they, by the way?”  
“They’re doing great. Alex is on the soccer team, and Vera is taking art classes. Lev just started middle school.”  
“That’s great. I’m glad. Does Elijah know about them?”  
“Not yet. Eventually, yes. But I can’t take that chance while He’s still alive.”  
Emily nods, and Reid crutches over to us.  
“Anya, your kid is brilliant. He actually figured out how I did my last magic trick and then repeated it flawlessly. It took years to learn that one.”  
I laugh, and Emily and I move back into the party.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x6 - The Eyes Have It

After the announcement, most of us gather in the bullpen to talk. They didn’t really give us the time to ask questions. Garcia walks by and crouches down to us.  
“Why is Morgan talking to Doctor Doom over there?”  
“Morgan’s the new Unit Chief,” JJ answers. “Hotch stepped down.”  
“Did anyone explain why Hotch is stepping down?” Garcia asks.  
“All Morgan said this morning is that it’s happening,” JJ answers, looking back to where Morgan is talking to some lady Emily had explained was the bane of the BAU’s existence, Strauss. “And it’s business as usual.”  
“So we’re just supposed to move forward without any discussion?” Emily asks.   
“After Foyet, I think we’d have to be ready for anything,” Reid says.  
Emily had explained the Foyet thing during a coffee break last week, and the whole thing still sits uneasily in my stomach.  
Before anyone could say anything else, Hotch left his office, and we all turned around, pretending to be doing work. We all eagerly look up when we hear Morgan call us. “Guys, grab Rossi.”  
I volunteer, and grab the present from my drawer, and go knock on his door. “We’re gathering.”  
“Okay,” he responds. “I’ll be there in a minute.”  
“Um, I just wanted to say thank you, again, for hosting the birthday party. Ilya had a blast, and I’m really thankful for that. I asked around, and they said that you drink this brand.” I set the box on his desk, and he looks up at me in surprise.  
“You didn’t have to--”  
“I know. But I wanted to.” I turn and leave before he can stop me, and join the others at the round table. Once Dave enters, Morgan nods, and JJ starts explaining the case and it's uniqueness.  
“Ooh, he’s an enucleator!” Reid says, almost celebratory.  
“There’s a name for this?” JJ asks.  
I answer, slightly less excited that Dr. Reid. “It’s a rare subset of criminal behavior, but there have been case studies of assaultive enucleators. The overwhelming majority of them suffer from diagnosed mental disorders.”  
“And they’re usually males, lack social skills, their kills are disorganized and sloppy,” Reid adds.  
“The typical enucleator gouges the eyes out, but he doesn’t normally take them with him,” Morgan says, pointing to the screen.  
“This guy did?” Emily asks.  
“We need to figure out why.”  
“There are noticeable shifts from the first to second murder,” Rossi points out. “He goes from killing in seclusion to a public place.”  
“And he escalated from one victim to two,” Hotch adds.  
“What concerns me most is there’s less than 48 hours between the murders,” Morgan says. “That’s why I chose this case.”  
“And from what we know about enucleators, they’re almost always multiple repeat offenders.”  
“Exactly. Which means he’s going to need to kill again soon. All right. Let’s meet on the plane in 30.”  
We disperse.  
~~~  
I end up sitting beside Reid again. He doesn’t object, and we chat about things we’ve read recently, until we gather to talk about the case, and Reid moves to a seat to be closer. I take the opposite side of the aisle. For the most part we cover the basics: the connection of mental illness and enucleation, the differences in the murders, et cetera. I mostly pay attention to Morgan. He was obviously nervous, and I don't judge him; switching roles with your boss, having to do your boss' job in front of them, would be absolutely harrowing.  
“Prentiss, Hotch, I want you to go to the disposal site, see if you can figure out why he was dumped there. Rossi, you and I are gonna go to last night’s crime scene.”  
“Actually,” JJ interrupts. “The girls’ families asked to speak to our team leader.”  
“All right, Rossi, you can handle the crime scene solo. JJ, you’re with me, and Trujillo, Reid, I want you to get into John O’Heron’s life, see if anything at all points to a personal motive.”  
I nod, and give Morgan a supportive smile. He nods, and moves toward the back of the plane.  
~~~  
As we walk in to the station, a man approaches us. “Hi, Phil Brantley.”  
“Hi, I’m Dr. Trujillo. This is Dr. Reid,” I motion to Reid, who is crutching in. He waves a crutch in our general direction as a greeting. “You’ll meet the rest of the team later.”  
“Excellent,” Detective Brantley says, passing Reid and I each a file before turning to the large cork board covered in photos and a map. “Okay, here’s where the first body was found, just outside of town,” he says, pointing to an area just outside of the heavily streeted city. “And last night’s murders were here,” he pointed to a more inner area south of the first mark. “That’s about 22 miles apart.”  
“That’s unusual,” Reid remarks.  
“What?”  
“Serial killers usually have a smaller kill zone,” I clarify. Garcia calls with pretty much no information, and then Detective Brantley asks the question everyone wants to know.  
"What the hell’s he doing with the eyes?”  
“He could be collecting them as a trophy of some sort,” I posit.  
“They wouldn’t keep long as trophies,” Reid argues. “Eyes are 80% vitreous humor, which is essentially water. After a few hours, they begin to get cloudy and wilt.”  
“Any other theories?” The detective asks. I almost want to say not at the moment, but Reid beat me to the punch. We’d already discussed this on the car ride here, and I’d almost thrown up then.  
“There have been cases where after enucleation, mental patients have consumed the eyeballs.”  
“Are you serious?” the detective asks.  
Reid nods, and I look down. He walks away from us slowly, probably a little, if not a lot creeped out.  
I pull out the file on O’Heron, and we start going through the information, only interrupted when Emily, Hotch and Rossi walk in.  
“I checked out the disposal site where John O’Heron’s body was dumped. It’s a remote farm road. The unsub didn’t just stumble on it. He knows it.”  
“Okay, so that means we need a list of people who work or live near there.”  
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this guy,” Rossi says.  
“Why’s that?” Reid asks.  
“He chose that parking garage. He was patient. He hid and waited for the right victims and the right time and place. He blitzed them. It was all strategic.”  
“That sounds way too organized for a typical enucleator,” Emily agrees.  
“Add to that his lack of a cooling-off period between kills, it’s not going to be easy to get ahead of him.”  
The detective walks over. “I just got off the phone with the M.E. She says there’s something we should see.”  
Hotch looks at me and Reid, nodding. The two of us made our way out the door quickly.  
~~~  
The M.E. starts as soon as we’ve got in.  
“The eyeball is held in the socket by 6 different muscles, fatty tissue, and the optic nerves,” she explains. “These are pictures of John O’Heron’s eye sockets. See the optic nerves protruding?”  
“Trauma. They were ripped out,” Reid says, leaning in closer from the chair they had offered him.  
“Maybe with fingers,” she posits. “Now compare this to my body on the table. Smooth inside, no bruising, no sign of trauma. Optic nerves retracted into the muscle, and they have a clean edge.”  
“So you’re saying these were cut out?” I ask.  
“With a sharp-edged tool,” she agrees. “He managed to avoid cutting the sockets or the eyelids. This was precise work.”  
“The kind of work only a doctor could do?” I ask.  
“All I’m saying is that with both of these girls, it was a clean excision.”  
“Okay, so he was crude with the first victim, surgical with the others,” I say, turning to Reid.  
“With the amount of effort he’s going through to remove the eyes now, he wouldn’t destroy them. He’s keeping them.”  
We thank the M.E., and on the way out the door, I call Morgan.  
~~~  
I end up staying with Reid again during the night, this time with no nightmares. While he’s changing in the other room, I call Ilya to say goodnight, but he’s already asleep.  
“Damn,” I say after finishing talking to my mom.  
“What’s wrong?”  
“Oh, I waited too long to call, and Ilya was already asleep.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“It’s not your fault. I’ll call him in the morning.”  
Of course, when the morning comes, there’s another victim on our hands, and we hurry back to the police station. While Morgan, Hotch, and Prentiss go to the crime scene, we call Garcia, hoping to cut down our list of doctors. After getting it as cut down as we can manage, I go to hang up, but Garcia stops me.  
“Hey, wait before you hang up. How’s my Morgan doing?”  
“Fine,” Reid answers.  
“I know the man is fine. How’s he holding up as head honcho?”  
“Well, he’s stressed, but he’s on top of it,” JJ says. “Speaking of which, there is something you can do for him.”  
“Name it,” Garcia says, and JJ tells her all about the plan. “Oh my gosh, he will love that,” Garcia says. “I’ll get started. Toodles.” And then she’s gone.  
We wait around, bouncing off different ideas, such as hunting techniques, until Hotch, Morgan, and Prentiss return.  
“They’re back,” JJ says, standing to greet them. Rossi follows her. After a few minutes of talking, JJ comes back in. “We’re ready to deliver the profile.”  
~~~  
Prentiss and I are posted to stand guard as JJ gives her press speech. After that, we head off to the first of several precincts to help set up patrol. By the time we're done, I’m exhausted, but barely manage to get Ilya on the phone before his bedtime.  
“Hey, baby. I’m so sorry that I missed you last night.”  
“It’s okay. You’re working. Memaw says it’s bedtime.”  
“Oh," I can't help but feel a little disappointed by how little time I got to speak to him. "Okay. I love you.”  
He hangs up first. For a moment I just stare at the phone, my stomach in knots, before finally closing it, and turning back to Emily, who's waiting in the car.  
“Everything okay?” Emily asks as I get in.  
“Huh? Yeah. I just… I forgot to call Elijah last night, and now he’s mad at me.”  
“I’m sure he’ll forgive you.”  
“I know, but I told him when I first started that this job wouldn’t get in the way of the two of us, and now I feel like I’m failing him.”  
“You’re not. You’re a really great mom, and I know that he’ll forgive you.”  
“We should probably get some sleep," I say, brushing off the 'good mom' compliment. "I have a feeling that even with all of this, tomorrow’s not going to be fun.”  
~~~  
Indeed, the next morning brought more bodies. I stay behind with Reid, Rossi, and JJ again. When Morgan made the call, we were shocked by his discovery.  
“A taxidermist?” JJ asks.  
“It makes sense. A taxidermist has all the skills and supplies needed to preserve eyes and other body parts," I say, picking up the list of doctors to toss to recycling.  
“Do they know how to surgically remove eyes like that?” JJ asks.  
“Yeah,” I answer. “They have anatomy knowledge, they have to cut through muscle, tissues, and nerves in order to remove hide. It’s the exact same thing for eyeballs.”  
JJ's phone rings, and Garcia comes on the line with the best news.  
“Comrades, I cross-referenced this John O’Heron with Okie City animal stuffers. Turns out he wrote a $250 check as some sort of deposit for Lloyd’s wild game shop six weeks ago. Now this place is scant miles from the farm road where our first victim was dumped.”  
“Does Lloyd have a record?” Reid asks.  
“Lloyd Bulford has one recent record from the city, and it is a death certificate. He died four weeks ago.”  
“Of what?”  
“Emphysema.”  
“Any employees with criminal records?” Rossi asks.  
“He’s got no employment records at all. He has a 28 year old son named Earl who lives with him who has a petty crime record and 3 counts of animal cruelty.”  
“Garcia, get everything on the son,” Rossi orders, flipping his phone open.  
“Okey-dokey,” she says.  
“Morgan,” Rossi says into his phone. “We may have someone.” After a few seconds of silence, Rossi turns to us and nods. We go and get suited up.  
On the way, Garcia calls again, with more information about Earl Bulford, his parents' deaths, and financial issues.  
“Lost his dad, his house, about to lose the family business,” Hotch lists.  
“Care to choose a stressor?” Emily adds.  
We pull up in front of the building, and quickly hop out.  
“I’ll take the back with Brantley,” Hotch says, walking quickly towards the back. Prentiss, Morgan and I take the front.  
We peek through the storefront windows.  
“I don’t see anything.” I try the doorknob, but naturally, it’s locked.  
“Hotch,” Morgan says into the walkie. “I see blood. We’re going in.” He nods, and I slam my elbow through the window, ignoring any cuts that come my way, knocking out any sharp points, and reach in, unlocking the doorknob and twisting it open, and pushing the door open, entering with my gun raised. Emily and I clear the rest of the rooms, while Morgan covers the front rooms. Emily rejoins Morgan, and I join Hotch. After clearing the back rooms, Hotch points to an area of the room with a blanket and pillow.  
“He’s been sleeping here.”  
“Well, if he’s not here now, then he’s out hunting again,” I mention.  
Hotch removes one of the bags on the table. “This one doesn’t have eyes.”  
I lift the bag in front of me. “Neither does this one.”  
Morgan joins us, and looked at a large stuffed cat. “This one does.” He turns it to us. “This is what he’s been doing with the eyes.”  
~~~  
The office has tons of photos, filling in Earl's life since getting kicked out of school. Hunting, working at the taxidermy shop. Hotch even finds a list of customer information in a large book.  
We continue to study the rooms. In the office, we see picture frames. I pick one up.  
“Wait,” Brantley says, pointing at something in the book. “This address, Junction Road, it’s close to where the teenage girls got killed.”  
“I think he’s attacking all over town, close to where his customers live,” Hotch adds.  
“I know the customer on Dry Creek Road, close to where that jogger got killed.”  
“And what about where the couple was murdered last night?” Morgan asks.  
“Close to this address here,” Brantley answers, pointing to another name in the book.  
“Okay, so he’s delivering these animals to his clients’ homes and then sticking around the neighborhood to find victims,” I surmise.   
“And there are two more addresses here,” Hotch says.  
“All right, we should split up and go,” Morgan says.  
“I’ll get units to these locations,” Brantley says.  
~~~  
Prentiss and I get sent over to the first location, but she hadn’t heard anything from him since she placed the order.  
“Okay, thank you,” I say as we left.  
Over the walkie, I can hear Brantley’s voice, “I need an APB in my area.” We hop in and Morgan drives us down there. By the time we get there, the suspect is already taken down, and the would-be victim saved. After Morgan talks to Brantley for a second, he walks up to Hotch. Prentiss and I hang back.  
“Hotch, what happened? Brantley says you took him down solo.”  
“He wasn’t far behind me,” is Hotch’s reply.  
“You know you should have waited for backup.”  
“Would you have?”  
My eyes widen, and I look down, smiling. Morgan doesn’t respond, just turns and walks away. Hotch shifts his focus to me. “What?”  
“Nothing,” I say, biting my lip to keep from laughing, before turning to follow Morgan. He gives us the okay to go back to the hotel. When I get into the room, Reid is already there, mostly packed up.  
“Hey! We got him.”  
“Cool. Do you think Morgan’s gonna like the surprise?”  
“If Penelope did it how I think she did, absolutely.”  
We grin, and I get my few things packed.  
“Hey, it’s only 7 o’clock in DC. Call Elijah,” Reid says, before leaving. I nod, before picking up my phone and dialing.  
“Hey baby," I say when I hear his voice. "I’m coming home.”  
~~~  
We get in during the early morning, and Morgan gives us the morning off. I sneak into the apartment after giving Reid a ride home, sending Mom off quietly. Ilya’s asleep in his bed, and I scoot him over a little and join him, running my fingers through his dark hair soothingly until he wakes up. After a moment, he realizes who I am and sits up, wrapping his arms around me.  
“Mama! You’re home.” He hugs me tight, and I smile into his hair.   
“I missed you.”  
“I missed you too, baby. Come on. If you get up now, we can get donuts before school.”  
He jumps out of bed, probably more excited for donuts then for my arrival, and starts picking out clothes, getting stuck in his pajama shirt. I laugh, before standing up to help him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x7 - The Performer

Halfway through my drive with Reid into Quantico, I accidentally bump the power button on my CD player, and out bursts the Strokes. Reid jumps a little as I turn it down.   
“What is that?” he asks, once I’ve turned it down.  
“One of my favorite albums of all time, by the Strokes. Absolutely phenomenal.”  
“So do you listen to a lot of rock music?”  
“Well, yeah. The Strokes, the Ramones, Nirvana. And let’s not forget Pearl Jam.”  
“Right.”  
“Do you seriously not know those bands?”  
“Umm… no?”  
“Oh, honey. You’re getting a lesson in punk music.” I start the album over again and turn up the music. We’ve only made it to Last Nite when we get to Quantico, but Reid does seem to enjoy the music. He even walks in humming The Modern Age, and I’m slightly proud of myself. Of course, that mood deflates slightly when JJ shows up with a case file. We all make our way to the round room, and JJ starts, introducing us to newest victim, Tara Farris, and the hypervolimic nature of the bodies.  
“Tara had less than a pint of blood in her.”  
“Look at this,” Reid points out. “The first two had more than three pints each. If exsanguination is the goal, the unsub is definitely becoming more proficient.”  
“This is new, Tara’s the only victim to have a written message,” JJ says, clicking a button. The picture becomes closer to Tara’s arm, revealing the words “The Liar”, written in blood on her arm.  
“The liar,” Prentiss points out. “That’s strange, isn’t it? Not a liar, or just liar.”  
“So what did you lie about, Tara?” Morgan asks the picture.  
“All of the victims appear to have been strangled and then bled out through identical wounds in the throat.”  
“Wait, seriously,” I say, holding up my hand. “Are those supposed to be fang marks?”  
“All of the wounds on the victims are covered in saliva,” JJ agrees. “Human saliva as though--”  
“Someone drank their blood,” Reid interrupted.  
Great. Vampires.  
~~~  
“So they’ve already set up a task force in Los Angeles,” JJ starts as I sit back down with mine and Reid’s coffees.  
“This isn’t their first serial case,” Rossi says.  
“You remember detective Owen Kim?” JJ asks Hotch.  
“From the stalker case.”  
“Yeah, you remember that case, don’t you, Spence?” JJ asks in a teasing voice. Despite myself, my eyebrows raise. Reid blushes.  
“I do remember that case.”  
“Yeah, you ever talk to, um, Lila anymore?” She asks. Something funny settles in my stomach, and I sip at my coffee, trying to ignore it, sucking on my drink to distract myself.  
“You know, I think we should probably focus on this case right now. It’s a little more pertinent.”  
“All right, so tell us about blood drinkers, Reid,” Morgan says.  
“Human blood consumption, or clinical vampirism, is known as Renfield’s syndrome--”  
“Which was named after the character from Dracula,” I interrupt. “Sorry,” I say, looking toward Reid.  
“Are they sadists?” Prentiss asks.  
“Not necessarily. Pain to the victim is usually only a byproduct. Blood is the focus. Renfield’s syndrome is usually accompanied by varying levels of schizophrenia and occasionally more classic cannibalism if the condition evolves.”  
“Classic cannibalism. Lovely job we have,” Rossi jokes. I muffle my laugh with a cough.  
“I will say this: True cases are exceedingly rare,” Reid says.  
“That’s comforting. Sort of,” JJ adds.  
“Renfield’s may be rare,” Garcia interrupts, “But vampires are anything but, and there’s a huge subculture in Los Angeles of the red-drinking undead.”  
“Why is that not a surprise?”  
Garcia shows us several photos of “vampires”. Morgan interrupts. “Garcia, all these people drink blood?”  
“Au contraire. They mostly just dress up like Prentiss did in high school and play make believe. It’s all kinds of delicious.”  
Reid interrupts the two with the warning of vampirists, drawling out the word blood like he's Bram Stoker himself.  
“Okay, I’m going to continue spelunking through the various online sites, see if anything jumps up and bites me.”  
“Thanks, Baby G--,” Morgan stops himself. “Thanks, Penelope. Stay close.”  
“Yes, sir. Garcia out,” she replies, before hanging up.  
After she hangs up, we only continue for a few minutes before splitting up, and I plug my headphones into my iPod, pressing play on the first album I see. Ironically, it's that My Chemical Romance album from 2002 or whenever, the one about the vampires. I skip the intro, leading straight into heavy guitars, and try not to fall asleep on the couch for the rest of the trip.  
~~~  
JJ and Hotch lead us into the station, and JJ introduces herself to the guy.  
“Hi, Lieutenant Kim. Agent Jareau.”  
“JJ, of course. I remember most of you. Agent Hotchner, Reid. Morgan. Welcome back to the left coast.”  
“These are agents Prentiss, Rossi, and Trujillo. I believe they’re new to you.”  
“Hi, pleasure. We have a room already set up full of glass boards, case files and extremely bad coffee.”  
“We’ve worked with a lot less,” I joke.  
“Agent Morgan’s in charge now, it’s his show,” Hotch says, and the rest of us go quiet. “Long story.”  
“I know you like to start with the freshest information and work your way back, so Tara’s apartment has been processed and sealed in case you want to go there, and her body, along with that of the first two girls, is at the morgue with the M.E. waiting there for your call.”  
“Alright, JJ, get set up here, and then hook up with Garcia. Send her the witness information so she can start cross-referencing with the first two victims.”  
“Reid, I want you to go through all the case files. Set up a preliminary profile based on what you already know about the psychopathology. And the rest of us, let’s find out what we can on Tara.”  
We break, me going with Prentiss and Rossi to the apartment, and Morgan and Hotch going to the M.E. Rossi cuts the paper on Tara's door, and we step into the young woman's apartment, I notice the various vampire paraphanalia lying around: Twilight books (and movie), the silent film Dracula, and a gothic-corset-looking thing hanging off of her couch.  
“This is almost exactly like my first apartment in Georgetown,” Prentiss says. “My mom wanted me to stay on campus, but I was determined to make it, so I waitressed on the weekends to swing it.”  
“Must have been a hell of a waitress to swing an apartment in Georgetown,” Rossi replies.  
“No, I sucked. I only got by ‘cause my mom put money in my account every week and we both pretended I didn’t know.”  
I thumb through some books on the coffee table. “Looks like she was studying to make movies.”  
“Anya, Rossi, come look at this.” I follow her around the corner to find a shrine to Dante.  
“And who’s this guy?”  
“A rockstar. He was popular a few years ago, but I dropped out of that crowd,” I admit, opening her laptop.  
“Ah, well, if you want access to a young girl’s life today, you have to access her myspace, facebook and twitter accounts. I’ll call the sexiest hacker on the planet.”  
~~~  
While Garcia works on the hacking, Morgan sends us to the hotel to freshen up. This time, we don’t have to share, since the police force offered to pay for the rest of the rooms that the Bureau couldn’t. However, I end up tossing and turning for an hour before getting up and just finding things to do.  
More emails are sent for the regular check up. Vera next to an art piece she’d created (French Realism, a painting of the house we lived in an hour away from St. Petersburg). Lev next to his science project. Stacy singing in her school choir. Alexei playing soccer.  
After that, I move on to the subculture of vampires, reading up on the different influences (including that Twilight book) and styles (based more in Victorian gothic clothing style, what with the corsets and all). Then, out of boredom more than anything, I find a pdf of Dracula online. I only stop when someone knocks at my door. It’s only eleven, but everyone else should be asleep. I open the door to find that it’s Reid.  
“Hey,” I say in surprise.  
“Hey. Did I wake you?”  
“No. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d read a little. You couldn’t sleep either?” I ask. He smiles and shakes his head.  
“Yeah. I think it’s the coffee at the precinct. Definitely didn’t help.”  
“I totally get it. Do you want to come in?”  
“Nah, just wanted to say hi. We didn’t really get to talk much after this morning, and I wanted to tell you that I listened to the rest of that album. I really like it. So, thank you.”  
“No problem. They’re a really good band. Their next album, Room on Fire, was really good too.” Not that I got to listen to it much.  
“Okay. I’ll, uh, look it up.”  
“Cool.” After a minute, I note the time. “We should probably try to get some sleep if we’re going to be up in the morning. Do you want to go get some coffee together? Say around 7?”  
“Yeah, that sounds great. Have a good night.” Reid turns and crutches away.  
I smile, before shutting my door and my laptop, and laying back down, this time, going to sleep with no problems.  
~~~  
The next morning, our coffee meet is cut short by another body being found. While I’m sent to go to the scene, Reid has to go back to the station, so we say our goodbyes and I hop in an SUV.  
It’s pretty much the same as Tara’s body. Same words, but this time on her chest. Morgan steps away when his phone rings, and then comes back a few minutes later.  
“Hotch, Reid’s ready with the profile.”  
“Good.”  
Detective Kim comes up to us and looks down at her. “Highway crew found her just as the sun was coming up.”  
“How long has she been here?” I ask.  
Rossi leans down and places a hand to her cheek, similar to how a parent would to his child. “Barely even cold yet. Hour, maybe.”  
After a few more minutes of talking, Morgan sends us to the police station for the profile.  
~~~  
“Hey, Prentiss, you’re on speaker,” I say, putting my phone on the table. Rossi and Reid circle around.  
“Hey, so the fourth victim’s name is Erin Hickman, and she was working at a party last night for Dante, the singer. Apparently the other victims have all been super-fans of this guy, so we’re going to go check out his place now.”  
“Alright, be safe, keep us posted.”  
“Will do."  
Only three minutes later, Prentiss calls me back with a guy in cuffs on their way to us. Before we get outside to meet them, the news crews are already there. I push through and take off my jacket, opening the car door. The pale and red-eyed face of Dante rises to meet mine, and I offer an apologetic smile before putting my jacket over the guy’s head. Rossi runs past me claiming to be making a statement. Prentiss joins me on the other side of the guy.  
“Is he going to be okay?” Prentiss asks.  
“He’s got a gun, keep moving.”  
We get Dante, or Paul Davies as he’s legally known, inside. He keeps my jacket, unfortunately. We watch through the mirror as he paces the floor, waiting for more information on the guy before going in. We study his movements, his agitation, and while Morgan thinks that it's something else, I agree with Kim on the treatment of celebrities in LA.  
“I don’t know. These are people everyone falls down around, defers to. Adulation is their norm.”  
“You know, Trujillo, that may be a good way for you to play him,” Morgan says, turning to me. I turn around, thinking there’s another Trujillo he’s talking to, because I’ve never done these interrogations solo.  
“Me?”  
“You were the one who saved him at the circus. He may see you as an adversary. Have him off-guard.”  
Rossi steps in.  
“So what’d you tell the press?”  
“My official statement is I hate Los Angeles. What’s happening?”  
“Trujillo is gonna take the lead.”  
“Good choice,” Rossi says, winking at me and giving me a thumbs up. I smile. People start giving me advice, and I nod, taking it all in.  
“Ask him for his autograph,” Morgan suggests. I laugh at his joke, before realizing that he wasn’t joking.  
“Right, adulation, got it.” I head in there. Davies automatically looks up.  
“Hi, Mr. Davies? Have a seat please, relax.” I pull up my chair, and signal to him to take his.  
“Relax? How the hell am I supposed to relax?" I admit, even with the edge in his voice, his accent reminded me of London. I usually didn't get pangs of nostalgia for my college days, but this time was different, I suppose.  
“Please sit.”  
He lifts his phone in the air. “I’ve been trying to call my manager, but I can’t get a signal.”  
“These interrogation rooms don’t usually have service,” I say, leaning closer towards him and smiling.  
“Is there another phone I can use? I think there’s been a really big mistake.”  
“There’s been no mistake, Mr. Davies,” I say, leaning closer again. “I’m sure that you couldn’t have had anything to do with what’s happened.”  
“Really? You’re the one who brought me in here.”  
I take a breath, coming up with something to convince him I'm not a police officer. I introduce myself, fed title and all.  
“And of course, I know who you are.” I blush, pushing back a piece of hair. “I’m actually a huge fan.”  
“Really?”  
A smile quirks up, and I blush harder, looking down at the file in front of me. “Does that surprise you?”  
“Yeah, yeah, that’s a surprise.”  
“Yeah. I really liked your last album, but with FBI regulations, I can’t exactly go around looking like everyone else in the fanbase. Before we start,” I say, shifting in my seat to block the window from view, “Do you mind?” I slide a piece of yellow legal paper.  
“Would I mind what?”  
“I hate to ask, but I don’t usually get opportunities like this and I… I guess it’s just sort of a carpe noche sort of situation,” I say, referencing his last album’s first song.  
“What the hell is this? I’m not going to sign that. Do you people think I’m stupid?” He starts yelling at the window. I pull back the piece of paper. He turns back to me. “Am I suspected of something?”  
I take a deep breath, looking at the window for some support, before turning back and answer. “What’s the name of your new album? The one that comes out today.” I flip over the photo of Tara’s arm, sliding it closer to him.  
“Is she--” he starts.  
“Dead?" I finish. "Yes. With the name of your new album written on her.”  
“It’s a common phrase,” he says in shock.  
I flip over another picture, this time of the most recent victim. Davies, however, doesn't understand it, and claims to not remember it. I show him the holes, and he stands up.  
“What?”  
“Do you believe you are a vampire, Mr. Davies?" I ask, being absolutely blatant.  
“No! You can’t be serious. Dante is a character I play. A stage act.”  
“Sometimes things get out of hand.” God knows I know it.  
“No, no, no. This is crazy. I don’t know how that girl ended up like that. I think I need my manager here.”  
"You have the right to an attorney," I state blandly. "Not a manager."  
"I need to call my manager so he can find me one."  
I collect my things, and nod to the window.  
“I need a phone,” he says as I walk away. I’m about to leave, when I remember to grab my jacket from the back of his chair. He grabs my arm as I reach for it, and I jerk back. “I need to make a call,” he begs, his other hand shaking and his eyes wild. Breaking free from his grasp, I shut the door behind me, and can still hear him begging. I shut my eyes and take a controlled breath.  
“Are you okay?” Reid asks. I nod, and hand Prentiss the things in my hand before rushing out of the room. I steady myself on a wall and take deep breaths.  
Reid stands beside me when I turn around. “Are you okay?”  
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I just needed a second.”  
“It’s okay. I get it. The first time I led an interrogation, I almost threw up, before and after.”  
“Did it turn out okay in the end?” I ask, letting go of the wall, but still taking deep breaths.  
“Yeah, we caught the guy who did it, and saved a family, including a little baby boy. He’s almost 5 now.”  
“What’s his name?” I ask, thinking of my own little boy, and why I’m doing this.  
“Andrew.”  
A small smile drifts across my face, and I hug Reid for a moment before letting go.  
“Thank you,” I tell him, and then go back into the room with the others.  
“There’s nothing you can do when they lawyer up, Trujillo,” Morgan tells me as we head back to the main room we’ve been using. Reid’s phone rings, and he answers.  
“Dr. Reid here.” I can’t hear who’s on the other end, but I hold the door open for Reid. After Reid hangs up, we gather to figure it all out. Kim lets us know that all of Dante's stuff, records and merch, are selling through the roof now that Davies has been arrested for murder.  
“What do they say? Any publicity’s good publicity,” Prentiss says.  
“What are we gonna do with him?” Kim asks.  
“Well, he wants to talk to his manager, so maybe we let him make that call and find out what that guy knows,” I offer.  
“It’s worth a try.”  
Prentiss and Kim leave to go get Davies a phone, and Hotch walks closer to us, on the phone.  
“You sure?” Hotch says. We all look up. “Okay, thanks.” He hangs up.  
“Something?”  
“That’s the lab. The saliva samples from the victims’ throats, the DNA’s from a woman.”  
“A woman? That’s incredibly rare.”  
“But not impossible,” I say.  
“No, but Renfield’s with this type of aggression, it almost never presents this way.”  
“Okay, we knew something was wrong,” Morgan says. “Our profiles have never been this far off. Reid, Trujillo, go back and work it with a woman, see if there’s anything we may have missed.”  
We go back to the room with the glass boards.  
“Okay, a woman, what changes, what doesn’t?” I ask Reid. Reid starts going through information in his head, and then starts looking through files.  
“Oh, no.”  
“What?”  
Reid’s phone rings and he answers it. “Yeah?”  
Garcia's bright voice comes from the phone. “Uh, so I was looking through Mr. Vampire’s emails, and he gets a lot of vampire fan mail. It’s bananas.”  
“Obsessional?” I ask.  
“Ad infinitum and beyond. Tara’s friend, Gina, the stuff she writes, He’s her god. A vampire god. She lives for him. She said she’ll kill for him.”  
“And she fits every other piece of the profile,” Reid says, standing up. I stand too, confused. “Guys!” Rossi and Morgan look up.  
“The girl Tara was with before she died, Gina, it’s her.”  
“Do you have an address?” Morgan asks.  
“Yeah, I think JJ is there right now.”  
“Let’s go,” Hotch says, and we go get ready.  
As we ride, Prentiss keeps calling JJ, but she doesn’t pick up. We eventually get there, and start calling for her.  
“JJ?”  
“I’m in the back!” she calls. We find them all in a mess in the backyard. Prentiss and I get JJ away while the others get Gina and the guy apart and away from each other. JJ clearly has a concussion.  
Eventually, we get back to the station, and Morgan sends me to tell Davies what’s up. As I enter, he stands.  
“Has something happened?”  
I break it down for him, careful not to use names.  
“She’d been writing you letters about wanting to kill someone for their blood.”  
“I never, I never received anything.”  
“I guess he thought he could use it for publicity. He was right. Your new album is selling very well.”  
“I never asked for that," he says, looking up at me. I soften a little, nodding.  
“I know.”  
Davies asks after both his manager and the girl, and mentions that he wants to help them. I let him go, and as he starts to leave, he pauses in front of me.  
“You know, all I really ever wanted to do was make music, and I’m not sure when that stopped being enough.” I have no reply.  
~~~  
The plane ride home is exuberant. JJ held an ice pack to her head for the most part.  
“Hey, do you guys think Davies will continue to perform as Dante?”  
“The character’s probably responsible for the murder of 4 women,” Prentiss answers. “If he has any conscience at all, Dante died with them.”  
“Are you okay?” I ask JJ.  
“Yeah, doctor said it’ll be sore for a while, but I’m fine, really.”  
“I feel so bad I didn’t go with you to interview Gina,” Reid says.  
“Spence, stop, all right? We had no way of knowing she was gonna be dangerous. She was just the friend of a victim. Granted, a schizophrenic friend with a sociopathic partner.”  
“And a shovel,” Prentiss jokes.  
“Seriously, Reid, we had no way of knowing that Gina had that type of anger inside of her.”  
“Yeah, but she was obsessed with Dante. I should have known that that level of fixation can lead to manipulation.”  
“But only when the fixation’s coupled with schizophrenia, which we had no way of knowing,” I point out.  
“Still it never ceases to amaze me how dark obsession can get.”  
“But with a pop star?” Rossi asks. “I mean, I was obsessed with the Rat Pack, but I wouldn’t have killed for Frank or Dean.”  
“No, you just drank whiskey and smoked cigars,” Hotch retorted.  
“Oh, and this from the man who’s favorite record is the Beatles’ White album.”  
“Just because Manson hijacked it, doesn’t have to ruin it for the rest of us.”  
“That’s why I stick to Beethoven. No guilt by association,” Reid says. The rest of us laugh, looking between him and the others. I put a hand on his arm. “Reid, have you ever seen a movie called A Clockwork Orange?”  
He shakes his head. We start laughing, and eventually I promise to have a movie night with him so he can watch it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x8 - Outfoxed

It has become a common occurrence that after Ilya’s bedtime, but before midnight, Reid and I end up talking or texting about different things, like a book or film or random information that we think the other would find interesting. Tonight, Reid calls me on his way back from a seminar about the neurology of psychopathology.  
“It was really cool, hearing it from someone with the neurological and genetic correlates of psychopathy, because then it gets personal. Pro-social psychopaths don’t tend to hurt people, and he actually wants to help people who stop killers. It was really cool.”  
“I wish I could have gone.”  
“You would have liked it.”  
“Yeah, well, my evenings seem to be booked with either serial killers, or Power Rangers, so I think I’ll have to hold off on any lectures.”  
“Power Rangers?”  
“Yeah, my kid’s obsessed with them right now, and all of his friends came over for a playdate, so I’ve got a lot of dishes to clean. But you probably don’t want to hear about that.”  
“No, no. It’s cool. You’re a mom.”  
“Yeah, well, if being a mom means losing every bit of social life, I might pass.”  
“The girls sometimes do girl nights. Maybe they’ll invite you.”  
“Maybe. But then I’d have to find a sitter.”  
“I could babysit for you. O-or somebody else.”  
“You really want me out of the house, don’t you?”  
“No! I mean, yes. I was just saying that it isn’t your only option. Besides, what about dating?”  
“I don’t. Most guys get turned off about me having a kid, and besides, I don’t have time for dating, between our job and Ilya.”  
“Oh.”  
“Speaking of our job, have you heard if we’ve got a case ready, or are we just doing paperwork?”  
“I think just paperwork, although, we should probably be ready for anything.”  
“True. I’m going to get these dishes done, and then I’m going to bed. How about you?”  
“Yeah, I’m probably gonna finish up this paper and head to bed too.”  
“I’ll see you in the morning. Same time?”  
“Yep.”  
“Okay. Goodnight, Spencer.”  
“Goodnight, Anya.”  
~~~  
The next morning brings little joy. The briefing is fast, and we quickly get into SUVs. Reid, down to one crutch, goes inside, while I wait for everyone else to arrive. Quickly, they do, along with the cops already crawling the area.  
“Hey, how was your weekend?” Prentiss asks, locking her car behind her.  
“Pretty fun. Elijah and I are learning sign language, so we went to the zoo to practice animal signs. And then Sunday was a bunch of boys coming over for a playdate that absolutely wrecked my house.”  
“Yikes, I don’t pity you.”  
“Thanks. Spencer’s waiting in the back, so we should probably…”  
“Yeah.”  
We move towards the backyard, where Spencer is looking down at the pool.  
Prentiss asks him the same question, to which he responds, “Scary, yet informative. Was the whole family killed?”  
Rossi introduces the field agent. “Hudson, this is Dr. Spencer Reid.”  
“Field Agent Anne Hudson. The father is serving in Iraq. Three nights ago the cops found his family buried over there,” she says, pointing towards the hole in the ground a few feet away.  
“Buried?”  
“Neighbors heard the dog barking, came over, found he was scratching at the grave,” Prentiss reads from the case file. “Lucy, their oldest child, was still in her swimsuit.”  
“What does the father know?” Hotch asks.  
“Some of it. He was on patrol. Took his unit a couple of days to reach him. He arrives today.”  
“Last year, the Williams family was killed and found exactly the same way,” Rossi says. “They lived in Newport News.”  
“The father, Dan Williams, was also serving overseas.”  
“Now the police are overwhelmed and getting serious heat from the military,” Hudson explains. “We need some answers fast.”  
“As do the media,” JJ adds. “They’re already calling this the work of a serial killer.”  
“They’re right,” Hotch says studying the backyard. “It is.”  
“Why bury them?” Hudson asks. “It can’t be to hide the bodies.”  
“It’s a sign of remorse,” I answer. “And when they’re done being remorseful, this will happen again.”  
Prentiss and I study the bedrooms, and I point out that there isn’t a wedding ring in the jewelry case. When we join the rest of them outside again, I relay this message.  
“Laura Downey’s wedding rings are missing. Any other valuables?”  
“We’ll have to ask the husband. From the Williams home, only jewelry and watches were missing.”  
“The unsub only took what he could carry, which means he’s likely on foot,” Reid says as he approaches us.  
“There was a photo on the wall in the kitchen. I’d like to see it,” Rossi asks. Hudson agrees.  
“There’s no sign of sexual assault in the Williams case. What about Lucy?” Hotch asks.  
“Nothing on the coroner’s report. Multiple suspects?”  
“The mother was dragged out of the house. If it had been multiple suspects, they probably would have carried her,” Hotch says, pointing out the blood on the concrete leading to the backyard.  
“He knew the father was absent, therefore the dominant threat was absent, so we could be looking for a single suspect,” Morgan agrees.  
“No sign of forced entry,” Hudson points out.  
“No need,” I reply. “Lucy was in the pool, back door was open. The unsub walked right in.”  
“Means Lucy probably died last,” Reid adds.  
“In both cases the girls were suffocated and not shot. I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” Hotch says. JJ’s phone rings and she flips it open, answering the call.  
“Hey, Garcia, you’re on speaker.”  
“We just got a call from Virginia supermax prison. One of the inmates there has received two envelopes in the last two days. First envelope had clippings of the Newport News killings. Second envelope had media clippings of the Downey family. In the second envelope was a note saying ‘Look at what I’ve done,” and both pieces of mail have been signed ‘An Admirer’”.  
“Who’s the inmate?” I ask.  
“That’s the part that…” Garcia trails off for a moment. “Karl Arnold.”  
“The fox?” JJ asks. I recognize the name, but can’t place it until Hotch mentions the major facts of the case.  
“Family annihilator, absent father, wedding rings. It’s similar,” Hotch says, reminding me of who the Fox is and what he did. I was working the desk job when I had heard about it, but it had been all over the news, and eventually I ended up looking into the case when I was getting ready for my BAU interview.  
“To what?” Hudson asks. “Who’s Karl Arnold?”  
“Four years ago, Karl Arnold, aka the Fox, killed eight families,” Morgan started.  
“Just like this case, he took wedding rings, only he took them as trophies,” Reid continues.  
“He’d hide in the bushes outside their homes, and he watched them for a number of days, always at night. Saw how they lived, how they loved. He would keep them apart until the last night. Then he would bring them, one by one, down to the basement. The youngest first, the father last. I asked him why. He said it was so they could see what happens to families when the head of household isn’t strong. ‘Wives wither. Children perish,’” Morgan finished. I recognize those lines from the interview tapes.  
“So we’re working with a copycat here?” Hudson asks.  
“It’s too early to assume anything,” Hotch says.  
“It could bias the profile,” Reid adds.  
“Not to mention the police, the media, and the military would jump all over it.”  
“Until we’re positive, none of this information leaves the 8 of us,” Morgan orders. “Hotch, you gave evidence at Arnold’s trial. I think you should go see him.”  
“I’d like to take Anya with me.” I look up in surprise, but quickly nod my head.  
“Let’s go.”  
“Have Garcia check on all of Arnold’s correspondence and visitors for the last 4 years.”  
I offer a smile at the others before following Hotch to the car. He says nothing as we get in and get on the road. Garcia calls and gives us the in on Arnold’s life in prison, but it’s not much, mostly fans and other creeps.  
We discuss possible connections to Arnold, as well as possible changes in this unsub, until we arrive at the prison. These are some of America’s worst killers. I shudder thinking about some of the other killers in this hellhole, as we’re stripped searched and our guns put into safes.  
In the elevator and walking to the room, Hotch talks strategy, giving me pointers and information.  
“Karl has a big ego, he’s gonna wanna answer a question with a question. He’ll try to gain advantage with me by asking why I’m not wearing my wedding ring.”  
I try not to feel unsettled by that.  
“And then he’ll turn his attention to you.”  
And I’m unsettled. “Is that why you picked me?”  
“Your presence will throw him off guard,” Hotch says simply, moving along to the next pointer. “He’s going to want to describe to you in graphic detail ever sexual act he committed with the families.”  
“To scare me?”  
“To pull you into his fantasy.”  
The guard orders the door opened, and with a loud buzzer, it does. Already I can hear the sound of a thousand maniacs, screaming, as we enter. I keep my head up, eyes foward, but still my heart beats, and I’m scared that it’s so loud they can hear it, or perhaps smell the fear. I do not believe in monsters, but I’m still scared of men. Hotch continues to talk, and I latch onto his voice, keeping my breaths even with his.  
“More than anything, he’s going to want to see images of the children.”  
“No.” I shake my head. “We are not giving him that.”  
“We have to give him something.”  
We continue walking, and just as we pause at the next door, someone runs at their window, barking mad obscenities.  
“Garrett Pain,” I say out of recognition.  
“It’s reinforced glass,” Hotch assures, but I tilt my head.  
“Easy for you to say, he tore apart fourteen women. The door opens, and we enter. Waiting at the table for us like a jump-suited Jesus, is Karl Arnold. He stands, recognizing Hotch.  
“I wasn’t informed you were bringing a, uh,” he turns to look at me. I keep my face neutral, thankful for what my mother calls “resting bitch face”. “They just said two agents,” Arnold finishes.  
Hotch goes to introduce me, but Arnold interrupts him. “Anya. Trujillo.” It’s creepy to know he knows my name. “I’ve heard alot about you. Thank you for joining us. I imagine you don’t get to see the aftermath of arrests very often,” he says.  
A guard comes in, holding the letters that Garcia had found. We sit down, and Hotch spreads them out for him.  
“Karl, it appears you have a fan.”  
“Admirer,” Arnold corrects. “Not a fan. Big difference, right?  
“Is the first time this admirer,” I stress, using his terms, “has contacted you?”  
Arnold looks at me, stares at me really, in complete silence, only smiling and making a breathy sound that I take for a laugh, before turning back to Hotch and assuring him he has many fans.  
“Even my own website. Don’t you?” He waits for Hotch’s answer, but when Hotch gives none, he turns back to me. “You’d be astounded at the questions they ask. I make a log of all of them, would you like to read some?”  
I smile. “I would love to.”  
“You’d love to?” He asks in a sinister way. I keep my smile on and nod.  
He puts a hand on the journal in front of him. “Here. Look.”  
I lean forward to reach it, and as I do, so does he. Luckily, Hotch sneaks his hand in and grabs the journal, handing it to me. I set the book down in front of me, but don’t open it.  
As Arnold stewed silently, having missed his opportunity, I push it aside. “Maybe later.” I move on to the case, trying to get back on task. “Your admirer is taking wedding rings, just like you used to.”  
“But maybe not for the same reason,” Hotch adds.  
“Like how you took all of mine?” Arnold mentions bitterly. “But I see you’ve lost yours,” he says, nodding at Hotch’s hand.  
Hotch starts listing the rings, while Arnold questions him about losing his ring. I carefully move my shirt so that mine is safely hidden.  
“Let me guess. A casualty of the job,” Arnold says with a wide smile.  
“My job is what put you in here,” Hotch argues.  
“True.” He takes a deep breath. “But then, it’s the children who suffer most. Wouldn’t you agree?” Hotch says nothing and again he turns to me. “What about you, Anya?” he says, twisting my name. “Do you think Elijah suffers, because he doesn’t have a strong father figure?”  
He cuts me deep, and so instead of cursing him to the sun or beating the shit out of him, I say nothing. Hotch cuts in.  
“You’d know more about that than either of us,” Hotch retorts.  
“Which is why you came to me.” He looks down at the letters. “I can help you with that, Agent Hotchner. I certainly can.” He glances between the two of us, before saying the words Hotch predicted. “But I’ll need to see those photos.”  
Between bringing up my son and the contents of those photos, I’m done.  
“A word?” I ask Hotch, turning to him, keeping my face neutral.  
“Problem, Anya?” Arnold asks me, and I don’t look at him. Hotch does turn to him, only for a second to say there’s no problem, before standing up with me. I take the files and leave the room through a side door, needing a breath of fresh air.  
Once we’re out of earshot, I turn to Hotch. “We can’t give him this.”  
Hotch opens his mouth to say something, before closing it to look around, before choosing his words carefully. “These words will be his undoing and our way in.”  
“But at what cost?” I ask. “These aren’t just images, Hotch.”  
“That’s exactly what they are.”  
“We can’t use Lucy like this, Hotch,” I plead.  
“It’s a tradeoff we have to make,” Hotch retorts, a dark, serious look hooding his face.  
“Why?” I ask, exasperated.  
Hotch glances at Arnold again, before taking a deep breath. “To him, it’s not just a photograph. It’s much, much more, and we need to know what.”  
I sigh, understanding what he’s saying. “If that’s what it takes.”  
“You don’t have to do this.”  
I give him a look that hopefully says are-you-kidding, then sigh. “Yeah, I do.”  
“Alright. When I feel he’s ready to talk, I’ll leave the room. You get him talking. Whatever he does, whatever you feel, just stay on script,” he advises, and I take the words in. “We need to know why he killed those families.”  
We enter again, and Hotch wastes no time with his attitude. A guard comes in and uncuffs his hands, and I start laying out the pictures. Hotch quickly starts spitting out information, and Arnold starts asking questions just as fast. When he asks about Lucy, though, Hotch shuts down, and instead moves on to the youngest son and mother. Arnold chuckles at us.  
“You have no idea how he knows the father is gone, or how he targets these families. And the how, that’s the key. The how is why he,” Arnold nods to Hotch, “was able to catch me.”  
Following the script, I help sneak in a bit of his ego. “You watched your families for days.”  
Arnold gives me a dirty look. “Weeks. I got to know them, but not your guy.” I’m confused for a moment before he says it. “He doesn’t need weeks, if he did, he’d stay longer.”  
“Why?” I ask, letting curiosity frame my voice. He turns back to the picture of the fridge, which in turn had pictures of the kids.  
“So he can enjoy them,” he says with such a sickening voice I have to hold in a shudder. “But what I don’t understand is--”  
“Why he didn’t separate the children,” Hotch finishes.  
“That way you have more control, no room for error.”  
“Why he didn’t put the boys in separate rooms and say if you cry…”  
“I’ll have to kill mommy,” Karl finishes. He points to a picture of Lucy. “Tell me, how did the girl die?” Hotch answers, and Arnold smiles. “May I see her?” he asks, reaching for the files, but I snatch them out of his hand.  
“What’s so special about the girl?” I ask.  
“To suffocate her. To feel the life leave her body means everything to the man who did this.”  
Hotch shakes his head. “To you, maybe, but not to this killer, not in the same way.”  
The two start a tete a tete, before I jump in with a more obvious explanation to why the killer and Arnold aren’t the same. “It’s not sexual for him. He doesn’t get off on it.”  
Arnold again stares at me, before turning to Hotch. “At least I spared the fathers the grief of living,” he said, and then broke out into a wide smile.  
Suddenly, Hotch gets a phone call, and leaves the two of us alone. For a moment, I wonder if he set it up, before Arnold interrupts my thoughts.  
“He’s killed again, hasn’t he? Luckily for me,” he adds.  
“Luckily?” I ask dryly.  
“Now we’re alone.” I bite my bottom lip before looking back up at him.  
“You said the families don’t know the killer. Why?”  
“Now we wait, right?” he asks. “You and I, see if my admirer contacts me.” I don’t answer. “He will.”  
For a moment, we sit there in silence, before I remember. Ego. “This was one of the first cases I studied,” I lie.  
“Really?”  
“Yep. I kind of, uh, became obsessed for a little while.”  
“With what?”  
I look up at him through my eyelashes. “You.”  
He smiles at me, and then chuckles. I do the same, more out of nervousness, but he can’t tell that.  
“And now you want to know what I did to the children don’t you?” he said, matter-of-factly.  
I licked my lips, sucking my bottom lip under my teeth again. “Yes.”  
“I can show you,” he offered. “I can show you exactly what I did to them.”  
I lean forward, sickened by my own behavior, curious to know the details, and disgusted by this man. “Tell me.”  
Hotch was right, he wanted to pull me in. I could feel his magnetic pulse, like the moon to planet Earth or Earth to the sun. He leans forward.  
“Children are so precious,” he says in a low voice. “So clean. But they need guidance. Especially the girls.”  
My eyes narrow slightly. “Why?”  
“Girls have so much more to lose than boys. It’s a fact that the female body can handle pain much better.”  
Disgusted, not only by the mansplaining, but by the way he phrased it, I pushed on. “What did you do to them?”  
“I showed them what men, their fathers and brothers, are capable of,” he said slowly, spacing out each couple of lines.  
“And what is that?” I ask, danger edging my words.  
“You sure you want to know?”  
“Yes.”  
“I took their innocence… and destroyed it. And when I told mommy and daddy, well, it made them want to fight harder, which was so much fun to watch. Once I killed the children, it always amazed me how little the father fought the inevitable.”  
“Which was what?” I ask, even though I know the answer.  
“Dying.”  
Hotch suddenly came in, and though he gives me no information, other than a stoic look, I understand that something’s changed.  
“Karl, I never thought you’d be this honest,” Hotch says, surprised.  
“It takes a good woman to make an honest man,” Karl says, acknowledging me. I smile tightly. “And anyway, let’s face it, she’s prettier than you.”  
I look down at the closed files in front of me, before looking up again. “Do you know why you killed those families, Karl?”  
“I’ve already told you why.” He rolled his eyes.  
“No, you told me how. Not why.”  
“And the reasons why,” Hotch adds, “in this case, are very different than they were for you.”  
“Very, very different,” I say, leaning back in my chair.  
“And as you’ve been so eloquently pointing out to Trujillo, all of your motivations were about sex.”  
I lifted my head, bravely. “Motivations you learned from your father.”  
Karl turned toward me, eyes wide and wild, staring the fires of hell into my soul. If looks could kill, he would have treated me like one of the young girls. His expression changes after a moment, turning back into a thin-lipped smile.  
“You really have done your research on me, Anya. I’m flattered.”  
I look at him the way I look at one of Elijah’s friends when they’ve done something bad. “You’re also filled with feelings of extreme self-hatred.”  
“It must be distracting working with someone so beautiful,” he says, turning quickly to Hotch. Cornered. Trapped. Like a wounded animal.  
“You forced fathers to watch their children die, and you want to know why, Karl?” I say, all niceties dropped. “Here’s why.”  
Karl shook his head. “What I would do to you.”  
I pushed on. “By killing the fathers last, you were killing your own father, but not only that, you were killing yourself. Over and over and over again.”  
When he says nothing, I raise an eyebrow. He leans back, running a hand over his beard. “This isn’t over, Agent Hotchner. At least, not for you.”  
I think back to the unsub at hand, realizing that I had stop paying attention to it, having been sucked in by the Fox. “Wait, Hotch. If it’s all about the fathers for Karl, then maybe it’s all about the daughters for this killer. They die last, laid out last, drowned not shot. No sexual motive,” I continue to list, before coming to my conclusion. “What if it’s the same?”  
“We hadn’t considered that,” Hotch agreed.  
“It’s so rare, why would we?”  
Karl sat back up, confused. “What is?”  
“The killer’s a woman,” Hotch says.  
“A woman?” Karl asks.  
I stand up quickly, ready to get out of there. “I’ll tell Morgan.”  
~~~  
Hotch joins me shortly after I hang up with Morgan.  
“There’s something else going on,” he says, standing next to me, watching the screen. “I don’t think this woman has anything to do with Karl.”  
I shudder, sliding into the chair beside me. “I’m so disgusted with myself.”  
“You did what you had to do.”  
“I flirted with him,” I continue, shuddering, although in the back of my mind, a small voice is reminding me that it wasn’t the first time I’ve had to feign love. “This is a complete twist on what we do. Getting intimate with a killer.”  
“It helped the case. You did what you had to. And I’m proud of you,” he adds. I look up at him, but before I can say anything, Karl starts talking through the screen.  
“Agent Hotchner, before you go, there’s one final thing I’d like to share with you.”  
I sigh, standing. “Let’s get this done.” I follow Hotch back into the room, and Karl is still waiting for us.  
“So you think you’ve found my admirer. A woman,” he adds.  
“No, we found the killer,” I correct.  
“With my help, of course.”  
“Everyone who contacts you, admirer included, is just lost.”  
“My love, your guy is far from lost,” he retorts.  
“We’re done,” Hotch says.  
“So is he,” Karl says, picking up a piece of paper, showing it to us. In red pen, the words “look at what I’ve done. - an admirer” is scrawled across small white paper. “It’s quite brilliant,” Karl admires.  
“We will find whoever sent you that,” Hotch assured.  
“No, Agent Hotchner, I rather think he’s already found you.”  
Hotch suddenly grabs at the file with the loose paper, looking through everything.  
“Hotch?”  
He throws the file down, picking up the journal, as Karl taunts him. He stops flipping. He found something. When I look over his shoulder, I see what it is. “FBI Agent Attacked In His Home” the headline reads, and in red pen across Hotch’s ID photo, is the Eye of Providence. The Reaper’s symbol.  
Hotch drops the journal, grabbing his things and leaving. I follow him, while Arnold shouts behind us and laughs.  
Hotch doesn’t say anything in the car, just white-knuckles the steering wheel.  
“Hotch?”  
Saying nothing, he pulls over, unbuckling and getting out. I carefully unbuckle and get out as well. He’s pacing. Anger radiates from every pore in his body.  
“Hotch?” I ask again.  
“I’ll find him,” he mutters.  
“I know.”  
“He won’t win.”  
“We won’t let him,” I assure.  
“I can’t lose them.”  
“You won’t,” I say louder, taking a hold of his shoulders. “You have one of the best profiling teams in the nation looking for him. We can help. Let us help.”  
Slowly, quietly, he begins to nod. “Okay.”  
“Okay. Do you need me to drive?”  
“No, I can do it.”  
We get back in the car, and though he’s still got white knuckles against the dark steering wheel, he’s slightly more relaxed.  
We call to check in on the others, and the unsub had died. But they saved a family. We head to the station, but before we get out to get the others, Hotch stays in his seat. I stay too, and after a moment, he speaks.  
“Thank you. Karl Arnold is not a pleasant person to visit.”  
“You could say that again,” I joke, before dropping my smile. “I believe in this team. Otherwise I wouldn’t have joined it. Trust the team.”  
Before I can say anything else, the rest suddenly appear out of the police station. We get out, and share the news.  
~~~  
After picking up my car and dropping Reid off, I take a breather before getting in the door.  
“Rough day?” Mom asks.  
“You can say that again.”  
“Elijah’s still up. He’s waiting for you.”  
“Good. Good. Is he ready for bed?”  
“Yep. Took an early bath and everything. He was an angel.”  
I peek into his room. He’s reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban on his own.  
“Hey, buddy.”  
“Shh. I’m reading.” I smile, before pulling out another book from his shelf.  
“Okay. Do you mind if I read with you for a while?”  
“Sure.” He scoots over, and I join him until he drifts off. I turn off the light, and make sure all of the doors and windows are shut before heading towards my own bed. Once there, I pull a file from my bedside table onto my lap. The picture stares up at me, the cold blue eyes of George Foyet burning into my brain. I begin reading, leaving the light on until late into the night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x9 - 100

I straighten my suit jacket and sit up a little straighter when I hear the door opening. Grant Anderson walks through, before escorting Reid out. Reid gives me a small smile, before walking away. He’d gotten a cane recently, and it definitely suited him more than the clinical crutches did. I enter, Anderson behind me to shut the door. I reach up to grab my ring, but before I can do much other than touch it, Erin Strauss offers me a seat.  
“Agent Trujillo,” she says, hand waving into the room. I stand and walk in, shoulders back, head straight, just like my years at Interpol taught me. Professionalism will get you farther than a smile ever will. I sit where she wants me to, and I wait until she asks me to speak.  
“Please state your name and rank for the record.”  
“My name is Dr. Anya Trujillo of the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia.”  
“And how long have you been a member of the BAU.”  
“A little over a month and a half now.”  
“And have you worked until Agent Hotchner the entire time?”  
“No, ma’am. Two weeks into my employment, I began reporting to Acting Unit Chief Derek Morgan.”  
“Who took over the unit because Agent Hotchner’s ability to lead the team had become compromised.”  
“False,” I interrupt, keeping my tone neutral. “Agent Hotchner voluntarily stepped down from the position in order to let the rest of the team do our jobs unhindered.”  
Strauss nods for a moment, and then moves on through her verbal attack. “How would you describe Agent Hotchner’s recent behavior?”  
“Focused. Determined.”  
“Agent Trujillo, you are aware of not only the future of your position, but the rest of your team’s position, if I do not collect an adequate report of Agent Hotchner’s investigation into George Foyet.”  
“I do understand, ma’am. Every single member of this team, including myself, began investigating the Reaper. SSA Hotchner wasn’t the only one. I’m attempting to give you my side of the story, completely uninterrupted.”  
“Fine. Why don’t we start with your understanding of the situation when you arrived?”  
“I knew he was injured. I knew he missed his family. It wasn’t until Agent Prentiss informed me of the details that I knew the rest. And it made sense. Why he was so focused on making the right decisions, because the wrong ones could get his family, or his team, or his team’s families, killed. It had become personal, not by his decision, but by Foyet’s. Of my own volition, I offered my support and aid in the search for the Reaper, especially after we got the calling card.”  
“The newspaper clippings to Karl Arnold.”  
“Yes. Then Agent Jareau came across an idea that we hadn’t thought of before.” I explain from my point of view the search for drugs that couldn’t be replicated with over-the-counter medications, and the original locations of the letters. “Agents Reid and I were sent to work on the geographical profile, with the cities narrowed down to Fredericksburg and Westminster, where the letters had been tracked to.”  
“And what did you discover?”  
“That there’s almost a hundred and fifteen cities and towns between the two. Foyet could have been hiding anywhere.”  
“Why did he send the letters from two different cities in the first place?”  
I raise my eyebrows in a look of “come on”, but I answer the question. “Similar to the 2001 Anthrax attack, as well as Ted Kazynski, the Unabomber, Foyet used the two cities as a forensic countermeasure to throw us off the scent of where he actually was. Mail them too close to home, and we would be on him. However, he did stay near the D.C. area so as to stay close to Hotch, who he was watching, fervently. He wanted to see him break, similar to the detective he had made the deal with all those years ago. Eventually Garcia managed to narrow down the medicines down to one: Tapazole, a thyroid medication. Are you familiar?”  
“Yes, I’m familiar with it. What next?”  
“After that, we looked through, trying to find the name he might have used to purchase the drug. Spencer--,” I cut myself. “Agent Reid used an anagram of the phrase ‘The Reaper’ to find it, and that led us to Arlington, where he had been staying.”  
“Why didn’t the BAU enter immediately once finding the apartment?”  
“Because we had to be sure. We had to be sure he was there. And we couldn’t let him find out we knew. But eventually Agent Morgan gave the go ahead.”  
“Not Agent Hotchner.”  
“No ma’am. Agent Hotchner led the entrance, but Agent Morgan was the one calling the shots. He is the Acting Unit Chief, after all. But Foyet knew. He knew we were coming, and he left quickly. Of course, once we knew where he was going, we weren’t far behind.”  
“But wouldn’t that be a job for a tactical team?”  
“We didn’t have time, ma’am. If we had waited for a tactical team, more people would be dead.”  
“We?”  
“The team. All of us.”  
“Don’t you mean Agent Hotchner?”  
“I don’t, ma’am. No offense. I understand why you have to do this, and even why you’d want to. But to put the blame on Agent Hotchner right now would be… cruel and unusual punishment after what happened. If we wanted to make this easy, we could blame him, sure. But we’re not going to. Because you and I both know that he’s not at fault.”  
“So you went to Marshal Kassmeyer’s house. What happened next?”  
I continue to recount the events of finding Marshal Kassmeyer holding onto his life, apologizing for everything.  
“Do you think it was Marshal Kassmeyer’s fault that Agent Hotchner’s team was compromised?”  
“Do you think it was his fault?” I ask, voice raised, before clearing my throat. “No. I don’t think so. He was tortured, gave his life, and still refused to give out information. The Hotchners were only compromised when Foyet got a hold of Marshal Kassmeyer’s phone, something he couldn’t stop, even though he wanted to.”  
She nods, and pushes the tape recorder forward. I continue on with the story, explaining how Foyet lied to Haley in order to bring her back to the Hotchner residence.  
“And it was during this time he separated himself from the team.”  
“Not exactly. He rode along with Marshal Kassmeyer to the hospital in order to get more answers before…” I trail off, not wanting to finish that sentence.  
“Why didn’t you go with him?”  
“It didn’t seem necessary, ma’am.”  
“Did he tell you that?”  
“No, ma’am. It was implied that he might need a minute after finding out his wife and son’s protection had been compromised. Anyone would.”  
“Anyone meaning yourself, Agent Trujillo.”  
“Anyone meaning anyone, Chief Strauss.”  
“He was desperate, and he didn’t want anyone with a clear head to stop him.”  
“Is there a question, or should I just automatically lay a ‘leading the witness’ down, so that when whoever listens to this gets it, they know that this investigation is being run improperly?”  
“I would like to know what happened, to the best of your knowledge, after Agent Hotchner went into the ambulance. Please.”  
“Fine. After finding out that Foyet had compromised the Hotchners, we called the U.S. Marshals, who confirmed that Haley was in the wind after dumping her cell.”  
“And how did Agent Hotchner react to that news?”  
“He was agitated, but he was still clear-headed. He informed us what was going on from the hospital. We contemplated where Foyet would take Haley, and Hotch received a car from Anderson. Agent Garcia managed to track Sam’s number, which was still local. She sent the coordinates to everyone. It just so happened that Agent Hotchner had transportation access immediately. After we hung up, Hotch called Foyet. Because Garcia was tracking Foyet’s phone, she managed to tap into the line and we listened.”  
I can still remember George Foyet’s voice. It chills me to the bone, and I shiver in my seat.  
“Are you cold, Agent Trujillo?”  
“No. I’m not.”  
“Continue, if you can.” I nod, before recounting to the best of my ability the conversation we heard, along with the interlude between Haley and Foyet.  
“Then the phone went dead.”  
“And you had no idea where Foyet was.”  
“He was using a U.S. Marshal’s phone. They’re designed to bounce between towers.”  
“And Agent Hotchner was driving around aimlessly.”  
“No. Not at all. We used the profile, the words he chose in the phone call. We knew that we could figure it out if we used that. And we did. As did Hotch. We were on our way, and Morgan ordered a full tactical deployment.”  
“At the request of Agent Hotchner?”  
“No. You’ve really got to stop thinking that this will be the end of it. That I’ll slip up and suddenly reveal that Hotch was the Reaper all along. He wasn’t. Morgan ordered it all on his own.”  
“Calm down, agent.”  
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. This is just wrong. With everything that happened, how could this make things any better?”  
“As soon as you’re ready, you can continue.”  
“Foyet called Hotch again. Again, we listened in. Except when Hotch answered it wasn’t Foyet, it was Haley. I’d never met her, she was in Witness Protection before I joined, but I’d heard such nice things about her. And her voice. She sounded so kind, even with everything happening around her. We tried to get there on time.” I’m crying. “But it was too late. We were too late. I’m sorry.”  
Strauss turns off the tape recorder.  
~~~  
Ilya stands on the stool usually used in the bathroom as I clip on his tie for him.  
“What’s wrong, mama?”  
“You remember Agent Hotchner?”  
“Yeah.”  
“He lost somebody very important to him.”  
“Like abuelo?”  
“Yeah, like abuelo.”  
“Oh.”  
“Okay, you ready?”  
“Yeah.”  
I hold his hand, and we drive over to Reid’s apartment. I go and knock on the door, and he’s waiting for me.  
“Hey.”  
“Hey.”  
“You ready?”  
“Yeah,” he says, grabbing his scarf and locking the door behind him. “You ready?”  
“As I’ll ever be.” He nods and gives me a small smile. Ilya kindly moves to the backseat.  
“Hey, buddy.”  
“Hi, Dr. Spencer.”  
“How are you?”  
“I’m fine. How are you?”  
“I’m doing alright, buddy.”  
I drive us to the cemetery and park close enough so Reid doesn’t have to walk long.  
“Thanks for the ride.”  
“Anytime.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x10 - The Slave Of Duty

The funeral was beautiful, as beautiful as death can be. During Hotch’s speech, I can’t help but hold Ilya a little closer. We pay our respects to Hotch and Jack, and as we walk back for the reception after, I have to let go of Ilya’s hand to wipe tears away. We gather in the hall after getting food, and sit down at one of the tables. Ilya sits in my lap while he chows down, but I can’t eat. I run my fingers through his dark curls as we talk, and I can't help but glance every once in a while at Hotch, who similarly had Jack on his lap.  
Suddenly, Morgan and JJ’s phones ring.  
“They can’t be calling us in, not tonight,” Morgan mutters, looking at the message.  
“I’m on it,” JJ says, already dialing.  
“We can’t go,” I argue.  
“We have to,” Morgan replies, defeated. “I’ll get Rossi.”  
“Talk to Strauss, tell her to send another team,” Reid suggests to JJ.  
“There is no other team available. Nashville’s calling us in. Second body in two weeks. Both killed on consecutive Friday nights. They realize they’re up against the clock and they’re hoping we might find something they didn’t.”  
“Ilya, come on love,” I whisper to my son. He gets off my lap, and I brush off the crumbs from his little suit.  
“I’ll call my mom, see if she can get out of date night.”  
“No worries, Anya,” JJ’s boyfriend, Will, drawls, his New Orleans accent thick. “I can take him home for you. Or he can stay over at ours, so your mama doesn’t have to worry.”  
I look over at JJ before looking away. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”  
"You wouldn’t be,” JJ cuts me off. I sigh, before nodding.  
“Okay. If you’re both okay with it.” I squat down and rub my hands against Ilya's arms in a comforting way. “Baby, Mr. LaMontagne is gonna take care of you, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  
“Okay,” Elijah whispers tiredly.  
“Okay.” I kiss him on his forehead before standing up. I share information with Will, including a promise to take in Henry if they ever want to go out.  
Morgan and Rossi join us a few moments later, and I look back at Hotch for a moment before we start to leave. He looks sad, but strong. He'll get through this.  
“We’ll brief on the plane,” Morgan says before we get in our cars. “Grab your go bags. Wheels up in 30.”  
I nod, and Reid and I start the drive to the jet, stopping to get coffee on the way, thankful that Reid and I store our go bags in my trunk.  
“This sucks,” I say, parking in the garage and turning off the car.  
“I know. But Hotch will be okay soon. It’ll all be alright,” Reid says, opening his car door. I pop the trunk, and take a deep breath before getting out and grabbing my bag, locking the car behind me.  
“I know. Still sucks.”  
~~~  
There's not much we can do at nearly eleven at night, but that doesn't stop us from theorizing and creating a preliminary profile. The next morning we all separate to get information. I get sent to the house with Morgan and Prentiss.  
“Wow. I wouldn’t say no to this,” Prentiss jokes as well pull up to a house that looks more like a mansion. I smirk as we get out.  
We start with the foyer, noting the fingerprints and rose petals.  
“Which typically would indicate that he’s disorganized. This crime scene screams organization. Roses, the dog. He was a stranger to these women. He didn’t talk his way in, he was laying in wait.”  
Moving onto the kitchen, Morgan discovers something strange.  
“Recently clean dishes,” Morgan says, pointing at the open dishwasher. “Two sets. And two wine glasses. And of course, the cookware.”  
“So he cooks for them, and he cleaned up after himself. Why did he leave the petal trail?” Prentiss asks, pointing down at the rose petals. Something about the rose petals reminds me of something and I jerk up.  
“Hey guys, wait. These rose petals, usually these are used for romantic moves, right? And the dinner, the wine. Maybe he thinks he’s in a relationship with these women. Playing out a fantasy date. He watches them, learns their routine. Sets up a routine of his own.”  
“Except this isn’t just routine,” Prentiss says, moving toward the dining room table. “This is proper etiquette.”  
“What?”  
“Look at this handprint in the center back of his chair right here. He pulled this chair out for himself. Over here, there are handprints on either side of the chair. He pulled this chair out for her, poured her wine…”  
“And even cleaned up after the meal was done,” I finish.  
We move upstairs where the real bloodbath was.  
“This is where the fantasy ended.”  
“Because she broke it?” Morgan asks.  
“I would,” I say, studying the way the soap bottles fell.  
“What do you mean?” Morgan asks.  
"Downstairs, I'm not in immediate danger after the initial assault. I can take my time finding my escape. But up here, I'm at my most vulnerable. I fight back."  
“Home is where you’re supposed to feel safe," Prentiss adds, both disgusted and saddened. "Nobody deserves to have that taken away.”  
I’m reminded of the events of the past few days, and my thoughts go back to Hotch. Jack was in Witness Protection, and before that, rarely saw his father between cases and Haley having custody. How was he handling single parenthood? I make a mental note to offer to help out, before returning to the case at hand. We eventually clear out, heading to the station, where we offer what we found. Eventually, Morgan sighs, picking up his jacket.  
“All right, listen up,” Morgan says. “I want everybody to go back to the hotel and try to get some rest. We’re gonna have to pick this up again in the morning.”  
“We’re giving up?” Prentiss asks.  
“No, we’re gonna take a break. We have to get the profile at morning roll and none of us have slept since the funeral. Once Garcia can get us a paper trail, then we can expand our canvass but until then there’s really nothing else we can do.”  
We start packing things away, and make our way to the hotel. After collecting keys, we all split up, the usual roommates already chosen.  
“Ugh, I’m exhausted, but I need to shower and change,” I say, peeling off my suit jacket. “Do you mind?”  
Reid shakes his head, setting his bag on the bed. That’s when I see it. There’s only one bed.  
“I can take the couch,” I offer, but Reid shakes his head again.  
“I’ll take the couch, you take the bed.”  
“But your knee.”  
“I can handle it.”  
“Nope,” I say, putting my foot down. “The bed’s big enough for the both of us. That way your chivalry isn’t ignored, and I don’t have to worry about being the cause of your leg getting hurt again.”  
He pauses, before agreeing. I take my bag into the bathroom with me, and by the time I get back, he’s changed and lying on one side of the bed, reading. I turn out the lights, leaving the bathroom light on.  
“Goodnight, Spencer.”  
“Goodnight, Anya.”  
~~~  
I curl into the warm body at my side as sunlight streams through the window. “It’s too early,” I complain into his torso.  
“I know,” he says, voice low and gravelly, but familiar. I suddenly wake up as he withdraws and cold air replaces him.  
“Anya, I’m so sorry,” Reid says, and that’s like an ice bucket. I jump out of bed quickly.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I’m just gonna--” I grab my bag and escape into the bathroom, not looking him in the eye. I hear knocking at the main door, and voices, before silence again. A few minutes later, he knocks on my door. I open it like I would for any friend.  
“Morgan says to meet them downstairs.”  
“Great.”  
“And we’re not going to talk about it?” Reid says incredulously as I walk past him. I pause.  
“We can talk later. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” And then I left, not sure if he followed me or not.  
~~~  
After giving the profile, we split up to take some of the locations the victims were last seen at. Emily and I end up at the botanical gardens that both women visited a day before their deaths. On our way, Emily starts chatting.  
“Been settling in good?” she says, interrupting my thoughts.  
“Huh? Um, yeah. Elijah really likes his school.”  
“What’s up with you? Did something happen between you and the good doctor?”  
I say nothing, keeping my eyes on the road.  
“Oh," she says, surprised. "Well, I’m sure whatever it is, he’s already forgotten about it.”  
“He has an eidetic memory. I’m pretty sure he can’t forget about it.”  
“Maybe it’s not that big a deal?”  
“I woke up cuddling him, Emily. That’s a very big deal.”  
“Oh!” She’s silent for a few minutes before speaking again. “I mean, do you like him?”  
“Dr. Reid is a very nice person. He’s nice to me, he’s nice to my kid, and I enjoy the time we spend together during and outside of work. However, this is not the time to be thinking about a relationship, especially with a coworker.”  
“Okay,” Emily says, holding her hands up in surrender. “I won’t say anything.”  
“Thank you,” I say, putting the car into park in front of the gardens. “Here we are.”  
We’re only there for a few minutes when we get the call. This time, there’s no chatting as we pull into the rich neighborhood. This time, two bodies are waiting for us: Erika Silverman and boyfriend Grant Franklin. While JJ heads out back to the UPS employee that found them, and Morgan, Reid and Prentiss handle the ground floor and Franklin's body, Rossi and I head upstairs with the detective to view Silverman's body. To say overkill would be an understatement. She had multiple stab wounds to the face and neck, and there was more blood outside her body than in it. The detective mentions that there was evidence that she had sex before she died.  
“Forced or consensual?” I ask, looking up at him from the file.  
“No evidence of sexual assault.”  
“She played along,” I said, closing the file. “She had sex with the unsub because she thought it would keep her alive.”  
“So why didn’t it?” Rossi asks. “This kill is personal, angry. She didn’t give him everything he wanted.”  
“What else does he want?” I ask, looking down at Erika’s body. Rossi doesn’t answer. We head downstairs and meet Prentiss and Morgan by the staircase, and they give us the rundown on what they found. After the others join us, we head back to the station to reconvene, convincing the detective from pulling his men off, and sending JJ on the news. With this being our third victim, Reid announces the geographical comfort zone, which puts us one more step closer to catching this guy and going home.  
~~~  
Prentiss and I are given the mission of finding some dinner, and then after, we’re set to recanvass with Kaminski, but it's not long before our phones start blowing up.  
A few minutes later, we’ve arrived at the station, and Morgan fills us in on what we missed, namely that the unsub works at a valet company. Prentiss heads off to the bathroom (side effect of having to sit in a car for 30+ minutes). Garcia calls, and immediately starts on information.  
“The Culpepper Valet Company handled the fundraiser on Tuesday, and the same company had contracts with the hotel lounge Bethany Heminger frequented and the country club Melissa Johnson was a member at.”  
Rossi runs in quickly after, having asked the management of the company for anyone fitting the profile. They only had one name.  
“Joe Belser.”  
“Where’s he working tonight?”  
“The Vouner Street Lounge. Let’s go.”  
As we drive, Garcia gives us information on the guy, but no such luck on tracking him. “I need potential victims names.”  
“We’ll get back to you,” Reid says. The cars split, Morgan, Prentiss and Rossi heading to Belser’s apartment, the rest of us (Reid, JJ, the detective and myself) going to the restaurant. After hearing that he’s not at his apartment, we pull up at the restaurant and split up for questioning, JJ and I together, while Reid and the detective ask whoever we don’t get.  
As JJ and I approach the boys, Reid lists off names to Garcia. We're not close the address, but the others are, so we are consigned to wait until someone calls us. Thankfully, Morgan does, telling us that Joe Belser was in cuffs, and we are free to go home. Reid and I are mostly silent as we pack. Before heading to the door, I stop.  
“Look, I’m really sorry about this morning. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and I can totally handle rooming with Hotch when he comes back.”  
“Anya, I wasn’t uncomfortable. I was more concerned about making you uncomfortable.”  
“I wasn’t,” I say quickly. “Uncomfortable, I mean. It was… nice.”  
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah. It was.”  
“So, no problems?” I ask.  
“No problems.”  
With the air cleared, we make our way down to the lobby, where everyone’s waiting. Prentiss gives me an arched eyebrow and I roll my eyes. Eventually, we board the plane back to Quantico, and a silent air falls over us. Calm, once again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x14 - Parasite

I’m running late, so I end up picking Spencer up before dropping Ilya off. Just as I pull up to his apartment, my phone buzzes, and I accidentally knock it off of the dash onto the passenger seat floor.  
“Shit.” I try to reach for it, but I can’t get it, and as I sit back up, just hoping that Spencer will get my ESP message, I hear a little voice behind me say “Shit”.  
“No, no, no,” I scold. “Shit is not a word we should be saying. It’s a bad word.”  
“Shit. Shit.”  
“Ilya, no.”  
“Why are you saying shit?”  
“Because I dropped my phone," I say, unbuckling and trying to reach it again. It’s what grownups say when something bad happens. But you shouldn’t say it okay? You could get mama in trouble, and I don’t want to go to the principal’s office again, okay?”  
“Okay.”  
“It’ll just be a you and me thing, alright? How about that?”  
“Yeah! Shit!”  
I giggle a little, and then see Spencer walking up towards us. “Not around Dr. Spencer okay?”  
“Okay,” he says as Spencer opens the passenger door.  
“Hey!” I say. “I dropped my phone on the floor, so be careful,” I warn, but instead of getting in, he leans down and picks it up.  
“Thanks.”  
“No problem.”  
“I’ve got to drop Ilya off really quickly, and then we can go.”  
“Great!”  
We head off. The usual line in front of Ilya’s school is practically gone save for some other last-minute drop-offs, so we get through, and Ilya grabs his backpack.  
“Love you, mom! Love you, Dr. Spencer!” I almost don’t catch what he says, but I do, and something settles in my stomach that I decide is jealousy, although it doesn't feel like jealousy.  
“Bye, baby, have a good day at school.”  
After making sure he gets in, we get on the road. Most of the ride is filled with the usual banter, but by the end, we’ve tapered off into silence, preparing for the next eight or so hours of whatever comes our way. I pull past the gate after giving both mine and Spencer’s IDs, and we stay silent until I park. He doesn’t get out, just stares at the wall in front of the car.  
“What?” I ask.  
“I just wanted to…”  
“Spence?”  
“Well, I was just wondering if… I mean, it’s totally cool if you don’t…”  
“Spence, just spit it out.”  
“I--” he gets cut off by our phones both ringing/buzzing. “I guess that’s a case,” Reid says, grabbing his phone. I reach out for it.  
“No, wait, what were you going to say?” I ask. He doesn’t look me in the eye, just keeps his head down.  
“It can wait.”  
“No, it can’t. Spit it out, Reid.”  
“Well, I was wondering if…” he starts slowly before taking a deep breath. “If you’d like to go to dinner. With me. Sometime.”  
I freeze. On the one hand, fraternization with another teammate is something I swore to myself I’d never do. Granted, my son’s father is a criminal who’s mob I infiltrated and destroyed for a case. And on the other hand, my heart is leaping for joy and I can feel a smile start to grace my face. He hasn’t looked at me.  
“I’ll let you think about it.” And before I can answer, he leaves, grabbing his bags. I sit there perplexed for a few seconds, confused as to how the conversation cut off so quickly. But now that he’s given me space to think about the consequences, things become more confused. Do I even like him that way? Okay, yeah, I kinda do, but was I ever going to act on it? Absolutely not! Why would he want to get strapped down to a single mother whose past he knows next to nothing about? But then again, he asked me. So maybe he does for some reason. I put my head in my hands, and then my phone buzzes again.  
“Crap,” I say, quickly getting out of the car and grabbing my things. I know just who to talk to about this.  
There’s no time to talk beforehand, however, as I’m technically running late, and slide into my seat just before JJ comes in, introducing the man with her. I shift into work mode, letting what happened in the parking lot move to a back corner of my brain.  
“Everyone, this is Agent Russell Goldman from the San Diego white collar team. You’ve already met Agent Hotchner, these are agents Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss, Trujillo, and Reid.”  
“So we’re working a white collar case?” I ask, leaning back.  
“Not exactly.” She lets Goldman take it away, and he starts his story about the con artist who started killing. We all silently took note of the way he was picking his fingernails, and Hotch and JJ fill in any gaps.  
“What’s his hustle?” Prentiss asks.  
“Investment fraud. Basically, he’s a smaller Madoff.”  
“To give you an idea of how convincing he is,” JJ says, cutting in. “This is a sampling of his work going back fourteen years.”  
My eyebrows shoot up at the faces of this unsub’s victims stare at us, smiling, unknowing their fates. “Prolific,” I note.  
“He’s scammed hundreds of thousands of dollars from people, but he’s never been violent before,” Goldman says, almost defending him.  
“Con men usually don’t murder,” Rossi says. The man had been uncharacteristically quiet so far. “But when they do, it’s to conceal their crimes.”  
“Con man’s a nice name for these guys,” Morgan butts in. “They profile as psychopaths.”  
“They see their cons as theater and themselves as a sort of puppeteer. They have to have absolute control over their victims and their cons.”  
“Maybe that’s why he started killing?” Prentiss asks. “Because he lost control.”  
“Question is, how out of control is he?” Morgan asks.  
“If he’s spiraling, then he’s a danger to everyone around him.”  
“And because he’s so charming, the victims never see it coming.”  
“Wheels up in thirty,” Hotch says standing and motioning for Goldman and JJ to follow him. Reid leaves quickly too, giving me no time to talk to him. “Damn it,” I say once he leaves the room. Emily overhears and gives me a questioning look.  
“You two okay?” She asks, picking up her things.  
“Yeah,” I say, and then roll my eyes. “No. Reid asked me out.”  
Emily’s eyebrows shoot up and she slides into the seat she was in mere moments ago. “Oh! That’s great! Right?”  
“Well, yeah, it’s great, but he didn’t even give me time to respond, and he hasn’t even looked at me since.”  
“Okay, well, the first question I have is what are you going to respond?”  
“I-I don’t know, okay? I mean, my first instinct is to say yes, but let’s face it. I haven’t been on a date in years, and what if it makes it awkward between us, or it’s against policy and one of us has to leave or--” Emily cuts me off, moving to right next to me.  
“Stop, Anya, you’re going to make yourself sick with all of this worrying. Honestly, I’m just glad he finally did it.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“It’s so obvious you two like each other.”  
“What?” I say, trying to brush it off.  
“Both of you light up whenever the other is in the room, and honestly, we’ve been placing bets on when you guys would figure it out and who’d ask who out. It appears Morgan won the pot, though he probably tipped Reid’s hand a little there.”  
“You guys bet on this?”  
“Well, yeah. But the most important question to ask yourself is do you like him?”  
“Y-yeah,” I say.  
“Does Elijah like him?”  
I smile, thinking about Ilya saying “I love you” to Spencer before getting out of the car for school.  
“Definitely.”  
“Then that’s all you need to know. You go tell him, and after this case is over, us girls are going to help you with anything you’re freaking out over. Especially your outfit.” I laugh in spite of myself, and we head out to meet the others, a little more relaxed.  
~~~  
Somehow I still manage to miss Reid on the plane, and am unfortunately greeted to the sight of Goldman gawking and ogling at everything. We take off quickly, and during the ride, he keeps saying stuff like, “I can’t believe you have your own jet.” Admittedly, I probably acted the same way, but with nearly five months under my belt, I'm a little more blase about it. At one point, he leans over Rossi to look out the window at the sea of green. Rossi does not look pleased and I stifle a laugh with my hand.  
“We take turns piloting,” Emily jokes. “You want to give her a try?”  
“Really?” Goldman says warily.  
“No.”  
Morgan interrupts our mocking by asking about the case, and we settle back into work mode.  
“A con man’s first instinct is flight, not fight,” Morgan says.  
“What makes him kill, though, isn’t financial,” Rossi cuts in. “It’s psychological.”  
“That’s what we need to concentrate on. Why Carla and why now? Morgan and Prentiss, go to her house. Agent Goldman, why don’t you join them?” Hotch suggests.  
Goldman shakes his head. “I sent his case files to the field office. Shouldn’t I stay with you and help you sift through them?”  
“I’d like to go through them independently, come up with our own theories, see if any behavioral patterns emerge that’ll help us get ahead of him.” Goldman nods. “The rest of you will come with me and Dave to set up at the field office.” We disperse back into our seats, and Goldman is left ogling in the aisle alone, until we start to land.  
~~~  
“Agent Goldman’s files are in that room down the hall,” the agent points, and Reid and I nod at the same time. As we walk side by side, my fingers brush his and I fight the urge to hold his hand. Hotch opens the doors, and we all stare in amazement at the boxes and boxes of files, stacked on top of each other until they’re as tall as Reid.  
“White collar cases often come down to a paper trail,” Hotch explains.  
“Maybe it won’t be so bad?” I offer, stepping forward. “At least it’s well organized.” JJ shoots me a look that says, “you’re joking right?”  
Hotch gives out orders, and we each grab a box. He's gotten colder, I noticed. He wears a mask when he's at work, but a few times I've seen the mask slip and utter heartbreak shadows his entire face. But I've seen less and less of that sad man since the funeral, which either means he's getting better at hiding it, or he's actually getting better.  
Reid sits at the desk nearby and starts going through his box. I almost think about starting a conversation, but he’s in Reid-ing mode, so I let him be and start on my own box. Hopefully I’ll see the sun again someday. An hour into the search, Garcia calls with Morgan patched through, introducing us to ten aliases.  
“The CIA assigns an agent two or three aliases at most.”  
“Interpol only gives one at a time, but depending on how long the cases take, there have been as many as eight to one agent,” I offer, not mentioning that that agent just so happened to be me. Rossi gives me an odd look, but continues.  
“Anymore than that, and it’s difficult to keep names straight.”  
“This guy’s juggling ten,” Reid says, looking through the websites Garcia sent to us.  
“Being all these people, that’s gotta start fracturing him somehow.”  
“If his memory is strained, it could be causing him to lose control.”  
“We have the current aliases, we just need to know who the clients are,” Hotch says.  
JJ walks in, papers in her hand. She hands them to Hotch as she speaks. “Got Carla’s phone records. She made several calls to an unknown number the night she died. I tracked the number. It was a disposable phone that hasn’t been used since.”  
“That’s gotta be the unsub’s number,” Rossi says. “He tossed it after he killed her.”  
“Over the past few months, she routinely called this number really late at night.”  
“How late?” I ask.  
“Bedtime late.”  
My lips purse in an “O”. JJ nods, before turning to the boys.  
“You don’t do business with your investment manager at bedtime,” Hotch says. I smirk at the obviousness of the implication, but keep my mouth shut.  
~~~  
The next day, it’s back to the paper trail. Reid, still not talking to me, hunkers down into his chair. Morgan shares a look with me before sitting as well. Emily, who holds no ability to keep a friendly secret, told JJ, who told Garcia, who told Morgan. And I’m pretty sure Hotch and Rossi know, too. This becomes the least of my worries when the news of another killing breaks.  
“You’re not enjoying this, are you?” Morgan asks. I look up to see Reid slightly smirking at the pages he’s flipping through.  
“I like a good paper trail. I find it meditative.”  
“How hard is it for you to be normal?” Despite everything, despite knowing that Morgan is just joking, knowing that Reid can take it, knowing that the word normal isn’t a trigger word for him, I can’t help but perk my head up.  
“If he was normal, what would you have to love about him?” I ask. Before either can respond, I spot Hotch, and clear my throat, sitting up in my seat.  
“He’s burned another alias,” Hotch announces, picking up a marker and drawing a line through the name Randy Summerland. We discuss geographics of the killings, before Hotch announces the need to deliver the profile.  
“There’s something else about San Diego,” Reid adds before Hotch can leave. “Anya noticed in his earlier crimes he only stays in each city an average of fourteen to eighteen months. Then he’s in San Diego for three and a half years, and then never in the same city for that long again.”  
“All right, so what is it about San Diego that made him stay longer?”  
“Keep following that, Reid. See where it takes us.”  
After the profile, Reid and I keep working through lunch only stopping for a few seconds at a time to get the food into our mouths without spilling on the pages, and I spot something within the victim’s unsub descriptors.  
“Hey, look at this. Before San Diego, what did this guy drive the most?”  
“Sports cars.”  
“And after? Sedans and SUVs.”  
“And look at the places they say he lived. Before, it was all apartments and bachelor pads. Now, it’s gated communities, large yard, white picket fence. I think he started a family in San Diego.”  
“It makes sense, downgrade your car, upgrade your house, isn’t that the saying? And psychopaths want to appear normal. A family would do that for him.”  
~~~  
The rest of the day and night remains mostly uneventful, but with the next morning comes more bad news of another body. Prentiss, Reid and I are sent to the scene with Goldman to talk through it. Noting that this murder was also in Fort Lauderdale, we decide that we're closing in on the guy.   
Prentiss dials her phone. “Hey, Garcia.” I don’t hear what Garcia says, but Prentiss responds back quickly. “Okay, narrow the search down to Fort Lauderdale only. Look at women who moved here eight to twelve months ago, see if any of them have a history with San Diego.” Another quiet response, and then Prentiss hangs up. We all look back at the body, and then head back to the station to wait.  
Dave and JJ come back with information about the first victim's list of customers, that the unsub is systematically going through.  
“We need that list,” JJ says.  
“Already flying to you. But that is not all folks,” Garcia says. “I think I may have found the wife. I did a search on women who’ve lived in Fort Lauderdale for the last 8 to 12 months, who rent houses and cars and have a history in San Diego. Came up with about a dozen names, but ooh, la la, only one of them works in real estate.”  
“Who?” I ask.  
“Her name’s Rebecca Hodges. She has a 9 year old son, John Davidson Hodges, who was born in San Diego, father on birth certificate listed as William Hodges. I’ve got the address of the house she’s renting, too.”  
“Let’s head over there,” Hotch starts. “Morgan and JJ, pull the son out of school. Trujillo and Reid, look over the list of potential victims. If anybody knows the unsub, send units to them.” I nod, moving over to where my tablet is sitting, and start checking my email for the list. Once I find it, I print it out, and hand the physical copy to Reid. I start to say something, but close my mouth at the last second.  
“What?” he asks.  
“Let’s talk later,” I say. He nods, and we get into the list, dialing numbers and asking if they know anybody with the names of the identities he has. Of all of my part of the list, the Sanchezes are the ones that don’t pick up. After confirming who is or is not a victim, we wait for information. After we find that all of the houses have been quiet, Reid turns back to me.  
“What about that one couple?”  
“His office said he’s out of town, and I couldn’t get ahold of her.”  
Reid’s phone rings and he answers it with a “Hey, Morgan.” I can't hear what he's saying, but judging from Reid's physical response it's not great. As soon as he hangs up, he shares the information, and I dial Garcia's number.  
“Hello, my lovely,” she greets.  
“Hey, Garcia, can you track Rebecca Hodges’ cell phone?” I ask.  
“Uno momento, mi amor.” Something beeps on her end. “Something’s weird.”  
She explains that the two phones listed under her name were active in the same place, which just so happened to be the neighborhood of one Hector and Brooke Sanchez. Reid starts dialing, and relays all the information to Hotch. We both have to hang up, and wait, and the waiting is excruciating.   
I pace in the room silent, while Reid sits, tapping his Converse against the floor. Finally, Reid’s phone lights up, and before the first sound is emitted from the ringtone, Reid picks it up.  
“Hotch?” He waits, before visibly relaxing and turning to me. “Everyone’s okay. William Hodges is dead.”  
I let out a sigh of relief, and sit down, though my heart sinks heavy for J.D., who’s just lost his father. Reid gives some affirmatives to silent commands before hanging up.  
“JJ’s bringing the wife and kid back to recuperate and ask questions. He wants you to watch J.D.”  
I nod, and when they arrive, Rebecca lets me take her son. I end up taking him to the vending machine, and buying him some fruit snacks. He’s quiet, and I’m at full force reminded of the sullen silence the Belikov children had greeted me with after The End.  
“Was my dad a bad guy?” he asks quietly, so quiet I can hardly hear him.  
I pause for a moment, before remembering what I told those kids seven years ago. “Your father wasn’t always who he said he was. Sometimes, he did very bad things. But it’s okay to remember the good times. It’s okay to hold onto those happy memories. Your father loved you very much. And despite all that he did, he loved you. And it’s okay to remember that.”  
When I look up, Reid is standing in the doorway, watching. After a moment, he tells me that Rebecca and J.D. are going home. I escort him back to his mom, and I hold onto my necklace like a vice as I watch mother and son reunite.  
~~~  
The plane ride back is mostly quiet, but eventually, I make my way over to the empty seat beside Reid. He looks up, and I start what I want to say.  
“I didn’t get enough time to give you an answer to the question you asked. And maybe it’s because you thought that I was going to reject you. But I know what I want to say, and what I want to say is yes. I would love to go on a date with you, Dr. Reid. If you’ll still have me.”  
Reid is silent for a moment, before breaking out into a huge grin. “Great! Are you sure? I mean, the fraternization rules--”  
“Aren’t explicit about relationships between equal ranking agents. Besides, Garcia and Kevin are dating.”  
“O-o-okay, then I can’t wait! How’s tomorrow night sound?”  
“Barring any cases,” I responded, with a quick peek at Hotch, and was shocked to see the entire team watching us.  
“We’ll make sure you get to your date on time,” JJ says, smirking. I laugh, and suddenly everything feels lighter. Emily steals me away quickly, however, and starts going on about how JJ, Garcia and her would be at my place by 5 pm, so I needed to pick out my four best date outfits.  
“Wait, what?” I ask, finally connecting to the conversation.  
“No offense, Anya, but you need help,” she says, and JJ joins us nodding. “Trust us. We’ll be your guide back into the dating world as a single mother. JJ will watch Elijah, and you enjoy your night. And then tell us all of the juicy details.”  
I catch Reid’s eye, but Morgan and Rossi have already grabbed him in what I assume to be a similar discussion. I raise my eyebrow, and he shrugs, smiling, before turning back to Morgan.  
~~~  
I take another look in the mirror. The clock is ticking, 8 o’clock getting closer by the minute, and we still haven’t picked the best outfit, even after a quick bit of shopping after it was decided I have nothing to wear.  
“It’s just dinner at his place,” I say, flopping down onto my bed, already crowded with three slightly wine-drunk women. “Why am I nervous?”  
“Because you’re in love, or at the very least, like,” JJ explains, the least inebriated of the three, considering she has to take my son to her house.  
“And you’re a perfectionist,” Emily points out. “So this has to go perfect, or you’ll be uneasy. I vote for the blouse and leather jacket combo, with the slacks, and those boots you never wear at work.”  
“They’re not exactly work friendly, with the heel.”  
“Speak for yourself,” Garcia says, showing off her own fancy pumps. “But if you want something styling, go for the sweater and ripped jeans. He’ll love that.”  
“It’s not fancy enough. What if he’s dressed fancy, and she’s not?” Emily asks.  
“But what if she dressed too fancy?” Garcia retorts.  
“Guys!” I say, shutting down the conversation. “How about this? The leather jacket and blouse, with the ripped jeans, and the boots. Dressy, without being too dressy.”  
“I love that idea,” JJ says, putting the other clothes away. I get dressed and manage to usher them out the door, JJ promising to take care of Ilya, as well as the other two, who are giggling and stumbling all the way to JJ’s car. I hug Ilya one last time before walking to my own car. The drive to Reid’s place has never felt so long, but eventually I get there, on time, and ring the doorbell just as the time on my phone turns to 8. Reid opens the door, and I find that Derek and Rossi definitely helped him get dressed. Gone are the ratty Converses that often grace the bullpen, but instead, some penguin shoes that I can’t help but imagine Rossi trying to convince him to wear. He kept the slacks and ditched the tie, going for a casual button-down/blazer combo that actually looks really good on him.  
We stand for a good thirty seconds at the door, before I remember the proper protocols. “You look great!” I say.  
“You look amazing, Anya,” Reid says back almost at the same time. We laugh, and he starts to usher me in. His apartment is nicer than I’ve ever seen it, and I can smell the food from the entrance. He takes my jacket off for me, hanging it on the hook beside the door, and we pause for a moment, so close, and I lean in.  
The world stands still for a moment when I kiss him, everything falling away in that moment. My hands stop shaking and my heart stops beating, and normally, I would have noticed that he’d brushed his teeth, just like I did, and that his lips were softer than I even dreamed of, and how we manage to work just right, even though he’s six foot one, and I am five foot six. But instead, my mind is blank, and it takes me a second to even remember how to breathe when I finally pull away.  
“There,” I said, getting my nerves together. “Now we don’t have to be nervous.”  
He smiles, before leading me into his dining room.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x17 - Solitary Man

Despite the fact that we are now officially dating (paperwork to HR pending), we manage to stay most casual at work. Not much has changed actually, besides the hand holding and the kissing and the make-out sessions, though for right now that’s all we’re going to do. I’m singing along quietly to a Fall Out Boy song on the radio when Reid brings something up.  
“Does Elijah know about us?”  
I pause for a moment. “I haven’t told him officially. I wanted to wait until you were comfortable. I mean, dating a mom must be plenty different from regular dating.”  
“I wouldn’t know.”  
I bite back a smile. “We can tell him. Take him to the park, get some lunch at this diner we both love…”  
“That sounds nice. I just don’t want to overstep my boundaries. You’re the mom, after all.”  
The standard rule is that we don’t do as much PDA at the office, but sometimes we’ll surprise each other with quick kisses as we’re handing off coffee. So Reid walking in with my hand attached to his is a nice surprise, and Emily notes it with a smirk and an eyebrow raise.  
“What would the sexual harassment people say?” She asks me when Reid goes to get coffee for us.  
“I’m happy you’ve found love after the disaster that was 2003?” I joke back. She raises her hands up in defeat, a grin stretched across her face.  
“What happened in 2003?” Morgan asks.  
“Probably my worst breakup ever,” I say. “And then my son was born in November.”  
“Ah, so you had a little Valentine’s Day lovin’.”  
“Gross!” Emily says, batting him with her file.  
“What are you even doing here?” I ask. “I thought you had your own office.”  
“Just wanted to check up on everyone’s favorite couple. How’re you guys doing?”  
“We’re doing great, not that it’s any of your business. I forgot how great it is to date your best friend.”  
“That’s nice.”  
“Unfortunately,” JJ says, walking up to us with a file in her hands. “This is less nice. Meeting in five.”  
I groan, but stand up to go tell the news to Reid. We gather quickly into everyone's favorite round table room, and JJ fills us in on the scoop: five women found in a ditch off of two highways leading to Edgewood, New Mexico. The rebriefing on the plane is quick, and doesn’t reveal a lot more, aside from the horrifying fact that our most recent victim was left with only one fingernail left after trying to climb out of whatever metal box she was in. I get sent to set up with the Edgewood Police, who aren’t entirely happy to see us, but appreciate the help for the one body they have.  
“Which we believe is the work of a serial killer,” Hotch reminds the sergeant.  
“Doesn’t it have to be more than one to be a series?” There's the typical question.  
“Technically no, but if you include the area surrounding Edgewood, you’ll find that we have five potential victims, all with the same signature,” I say, as Hotch hands Sergeant Sanders the files.  
“All strangled, all staged, and all dumped,” Hotch says, spreading them out on the table next to us.  
“Why Edgewood?”  
“It’s significant to him. We believe he either grew up here or lives here now.”  
Sanders gives a hard stare at Hotch before starting to speak. “Look, I’m sorry that somebody’s driving through my town and dumping bodies, but it doesn't mean he lives here.”  
“We’re searching for more victims through the HSK database,” JJ assures.  
“What’s that?”  
JJ and Hotch explain the Highway Serial Killer Database, and shortly after, the sergeant lets us be. Another M.E. report comes in, giving us more of an idea for this guy. Using his trucker trick of table sugar and diesel fuel, he’s definitely got a big rig or eighteen-wheeler that he’s using for transportation. Rossi and Reid come in after a while with lunch, and I notice that he’s limping. When I ask him about it, he just shrugs, but eventually gives up the goose when he tries to stand and winces.  
“I was in a ditch.”  
“A ditch? Did you get help? Your doctor says you’re not supposed to be climbing.”  
“I’m fine.”  
“Do you want to take a painkiller?”  
“No, I don’t need it.”  
“Babe, if you mess up your leg again, you might not be able to work.”  
Reid purses his lips, and then offers me a smile and a kiss on the cheek, before turning back to the board. "Okay." He pauses for a moment before turning back to me.  
“Babe?” he asks, a slight smirk gracing his face. I replicate it before turning to leave.  
“Trying something out. Wasn’t half bad. Now, work, and take an advil.”  
~~~  
The night falls on us quicker than I would have thought, but with the darkness brings something darker: another abduction. Morgan, Prentiss and I get sent to the scene. It had started raining, and I pull up the hood to my jacket in order to keep it out of my hair. On the way there, Morgan had gotten a call, and as we pull up, he hangs up to give us some less-than-pleasant news.  
“Garcia says there are 782 truckers working and living in this county.”  
“We gotta narrow down the specific routes,” Prentiss replies.  
“We’ll need more than that.”  
Sanders stops us as we walk. “The daughter confirmed. He was definitely driving a big rig. Now, she wasn’t able to make out any logos or see the plate.”  
“I’d like to talk to her,” I say without thinking.  
Morgan and Prentiss turn to me, but Sanders just points the way towards the scared girl in the back of the ambulance. She’s only a little bit older than Vera, and my heart hurts a little for her.  
“Hi,” I say softly once I get near her. “I’m Anya. Are you Courtney?”  
She nods, and slides over so I can sit. I start gently asking her questions about the events that had transpired here.  
“How are you going to find her?” She asks me, her voice small.  
I take a breath before responding. “We’re pretty sure he’s going to stay in this area, for starters.”  
“Why wouldn’t he just run?”  
“Because Edgewood means something to him. He keeps coming back, and this is the first time he’s ever taken anyone from here.”  
“But we were just driving through. We live in Phoenix. Mom was just trying to get me home so I could go to tryouts. You have to find her. She’s all I have.”  
“We will try our best, okay. Why don’t you come down to the station?” She’s about to respond, but my phone rings. I give an apologetic look to her before walking a few feet away. The I.D. says Morgan, and after a quick scan, I notice he’s not at the rest stop anymore.  
“Hey, where are you?”  
“I’m in the woods south of you,” he says. “You need to see this.”  
I find them quickly, and understand Morgan's message. On the ground, in an awkward position, is another body. We pull some guys over to take the body to the morgue, and after casing everything, the five of us, including Courtney, head back to the station. When we arrive, Rossi and Reid fill us in on information Garcia found: four more victims. Sergeant Sanders is not happy about it when he finds out. We escort Courtney to a desk to start getting the paperwork done, and then head back to the room we’re set up in. We discuss taking Nancy instead of Courtney, until Morgan comes up with a genius idea.  
“Being his companion."  
“Then he’s completely delusional,” Prentiss argues.  
“But not to himself. This is rational to himself,” I say. “Isn’t that all one needs?”  
“He’s got a schedule that forces him to stay on the road,” Morgan starts. “He’s alone for long stretches of time. He can’t devote any real time to courting.”  
“You guys think he’s killing because he’s lonely?”  
I shrug. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” I say.  
~~~  
We all get sent to bed, but I manage to sneak in a phone call to Ilya before being thrown out of the police station.  
“Hi, mama,” Ilya answers. “It’s almost bedtime.”  
“I know, I’m sorry. I just wanted to let you know that when I get back, I want to take you to the park with Dr. Spencer. Does that sound fun?”  
“Yeah! Dr. Spencer teaches me magic!”  
“Yeah, he does. Okay, get some sleep. I love you.”  
“Bedtime story?”  
“I--,” I trail off, looking at my team, who look exhausted. Reid looks up and gives me a thumbs up. “One chapter, and then bed, mister.” I reach in my bag for the extra copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, and flip it open. “What page were we on?”  
“Harry’s broom got broken.”  
“Very good memory,” I say, flipping open the book and reading the chapter, changing voices for the characters, mostly because it makes him laugh. I close the book after the chapter ends, leaving Ilya to stew over the various revelations.  
“You’ll find out tomorrow night,” I say. “Now, go to bed, or Memaw won’t make pudding for tomorrow.” Ilya gasps, and then the pattering of feet across linoleum, and I hear my mother’s laugh faintly.  
“Love you, mama. Goodnight.”  
“Love you.”  
I hang up, and we hit the road to the hotel, hoping that the morning does not end up with a dead body.  
~~~  
The next morning, I get sent to talk to Courtney, since I already started a repitoire.  
“How many of these cases have you worked on?” She asks me. We’ve mostly just been casually talking for now.  
I breathe out hard, nodding my head before saying, “Too many.”  
“How many of these women have you gotten back alive?” She asks, and that question is a little harder.  
“Most of them.”  
“And what happens afterwards?”  
“It depends, but usually, eventually, they find ways to move past it. Your mom is strong, Courtney, and I have hope that she’ll be okay eventually.”  
“What about the others? They weren’t okay.” Her voice is higher now.  
“Courtney, this man, he doesn’t try to hide his victims.”  
“Do you think she’s still alive?” She asks, panicked. I don’t know how to answer that, but she looks away. “I was so rude to her. I just don’t want the last thing I said to her to have been…” she trails off.  
“If he hurt her, we would have found her by now. The longer we don’t find her, the more chance we have that she’s still alive.”  
“But what’s he doing to her?”  
“I don’t know,” I admit. Reid emerges from the room and motions for me to follow me. I look up, and Courtney notices.  
“What’s going on?”  
“Sorry, could you just wait here a moment?” I say, following Reid.  
“What’s going on?”  
We move so that we’re out of her hearing distance before Reid gives the news. “They found a body off the I-40. No identification.” Courtney approaches us, and Reid keeps his eyes on the floor.  
“Is she dead?” she asks without hesitation.  
I clear my throat, before answering her. “We don’t know.”  
“What do you mean you don’t know?”  
I glance at Reid, who gives a quick apologetic look, before turning back to her. “The police found a body, but they’re not sure if it’s your mom.”  
She takes a deep breath before speaking again. “I want to go.”  
“I think we should wait here,” Reid says quietly.  
“I need to see if it’s her,” she responds, turning to him.  
“Courtney, Dr. Reid and I will stay with you here, and as soon as we know anything, you’ll be the first to know,” I promise. “Okay? Let’s go sit down again, and Dr. Reid will get us some hot chocolate or coffee, okay?”  
She nods, and allows me to lead her back to the chairs. I nod at Spencer, who offers a small smile before going to get the drinks.  
A few minutes later, Rossi calls me. Reid is talking to Courtney, as they sip their coffee (I got stuck with the hot chocolate).  
“Are you sure?” I ask when Rossi tells me.  
“Yeah. It’s not Nancy.”  
“Okay, thanks. I’ll let her know.” I hang up and return to the two. “It’s not your mother,” I immediately tell her. She stands and hugs me, unexpectedly. Morgan starts walking to the room, and Reid gestures. I nod while still hugging Courtney, and he follows Morgan in.  
After Courtney lets go, I let her ruminate while I sit with her, more to provide comfort than anything. Suddenly the team rushes out, and Reid catches me up on Wade Hachett. Unfortunately, all I can do is stay behind and wait.  
“Okay, be safe.” I say, kissing his cheek before he runs off to join the others.  
“Is that your boyfriend?” she asks. I scoff for a second before admitting it, but I do admit it. She gives me a half-smile, and we wait.  
Eventually, finally, Nancy Campbell is brought in unharmed, and she and her daughter hug so tightly I wonder if they can even breathe, and then realize that they probably don't care. The rest of the team comes in, but by their faces, the unsub didn’t make it. Spence tells me as we’re packing up what happened, and I can’t help but feel bad for the little girl who just wanted her father back.  
The plane ride is sullen too, with most either sleeping or just staying quiet. I end up dozing against Spencer’s shoulder, Spencer, who is practically passed out cold. I stir a little when I hear Morgan and Emily talking, and smile slightly when I hear that Prentiss fire in her voice when she’s talking about Jody. It reminds me of what she went through with Declan, and how she loved that little boy, wanted to protect that little boy from his father. She’d be a good mother, is the last thing I think before sleep claims me again.  
~~~  
The screaming children is a big reminder of why I dislike parks, but we still go. Ilya plays for a long time while Spencer and I sit on the bench, holding hands and watching him play. Thankfully, Ilya makes friends easily, and despite Reid whispering statistics on how many children get hurt on playgrounds every year (200000), Ilya does not get hurt. Afterwards, we take him to the diner across the street, but when I let him get a chocolate milkshake, he gets suspicious.  
“What’s going on, mama?”  
“What do you mean, baby?”  
“We neeeever get desserts,” he replies, stretching out “never” to get his point across.  
“I figured it could be a special occasion.”  
“But it’s not a birthday.”  
“No.”  
“Is it Dr. Spencer’s birthday?”  
“Unfortunately not,” Spencer answers.  
“Then what?”  
“Well, I just wanted to tell you that Dr. Spencer and I are hanging out a lot more, like Henry’s parents do.”  
“You mean dating?” Ilya says like I’m 3. He rolls his eyes and looks back down at his ice cream. “I already know that.”  
“You do?” I ask, eyebrows raised.  
“Yeah! Memaw told me that you’re in loooove and that Dr. Spencer’s gonna be around a lot more. She said that you’re gonna do lots of kiiiiissing, which I think is gross ‘cause of the cooties, but I guess I don’t mind if you do.” He smiles at us, and I chuckle a little.  
“You don’t?” Spencer asks, a little shocked.  
Ilya shrugs and turns back to his ice cream. “No one is safe from the tickles,” he whispers into his glass, and then takes a big bite. We laugh (albeit slightly terrified), and dig into our ice creams.


End file.
